


What You Always Were

by Wolfling



Series: The Sword of Damocles [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Derek, BAMF Stiles, Child In Danger, M/M, Pack Feels, Post 3a, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, just general pack bamfness, magically induced, non 3B compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 22:09:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1444651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfling/pseuds/Wolfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You think Stiles sees something in me that no one else does."</p><p>"I think Stiles put a name to something that everyone who knows you sees in you," Cora said.</p><p>Derek blinked. "What?"</p><p>"Oh please. You already all but said you felt like the name fit you. You're at your best when you're protecting people, Derek. Speaking as your little sister, I can safely say you always have been. Don't you think that's something that people were going to notice?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Always Were

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic is about two months later than I thought it would be, mostly due to season 3B making me compulsively write missing scenes and comfort fics. Since it's been so long I've included a brief paragraph of what happened previously. I feel we've definitely moved into slow burn for the Derek/Stiles relationship, though it could probably still be read as gen if a person wanted to.
> 
>  
> 
> Previously ~~on Teen Wolf~~ : Six months after the end of season 3A, Derek comes back to Beacon Hills and gets browbeaten into joining Scott's pack by Stiles. Stiles in particular has been consumed with the certainty that something bad is about to happen and as a result has been researching obsessively and not being able to sleep. Derek offers to stand watch while Stiles sleep, which does seem to help. The sheriff finds a suspicious wooden disc at the site of a suicide and brings it to the Pack's attention. The disc feels like the Nemeton to the Pack and when the disc tries to make the sheriff eat his own gun, Stiles has to talk him down and then destroys the disc by lighting it on fire.

When Stiles drifted off and his grip loosened on the coffee mug he'd been holding it was the sheriff who rescued it before it could spill its contents, not Derek.

This was because Stiles had slumped against his shoulder and Derek was too busy holding himself completely still in an effort not to jolt him back awake.

The sheriff gave his sleeping son a fond smile that Derek somehow felt included in just by proximity. "He said you'd been helping him sleep. I think he might have been understating the issue just a little if this is an example."

Derek would've shrugged, but again, he didn't want to move and chance disturbing Stiles. "I know sometimes it's hard to let your guard down enough to sleep if you don't feel safe. I just volunteered to keep watch for him. I'm glad it's helping."

"Me too," the sheriff said. They both contemplated the sleeping Stiles in silence for a few moments. "Y'know he actually thought he was hiding from me exactly how little sleep he's been getting recently and how many nightmares he's been having." He shook his head. "Somewhere along the line he's got it into his fool head that he's not supposed to make me worry about him. Like that boat didn't sail about five seconds after Claudia told me she was pregnant. I'm his father, worrying about him is in the damned job description."

"He probably thinks that dealing with werewolves and magic isn't," Derek said because he knew that no matter how easily Stiles had adapted to such knowledge, he hated the idea of it touching his father. And after incidents like tonight's, or when Jennifer had kidnapped the sheriff intending to sacrifice him, he could easily see why.

The sheriff snorted. "It's not. But I'm pretty sure it wasn't in his either." He sighed. "Until his best friend got bitten and suddenly it was. Which automatically makes it part of mine, no matter how freaking crazy it makes me feel sometimes."

Derek felt the sudden urge to apologize for his very existence and wasn't quite able to quell it. "Sorry," he blurted, but at least managed to keep from listing all the reasons he should be.

"Don't be," the sheriff said, fixing Derek with a knowing gaze that reminded him quite vividly of Stiles. "At least now I don't feel like I'm missing half the picture when I'm working on a case. Besides, if Stiles is going to be involved in all of this, I'm glad he has good people around him to help keep him safe."

"That's what Pack is," Derek said quietly, remembering that feeling of safety and belonging from his childhood. He'd taken it for granted back then and, after he'd lost it, despaired of ever having it again. Until he'd come back to Beacon Hills this time and let Stiles browbeat him into joining Scott's Pack. Even with the dangers made obvious by this night's events, it still was the closest Derek had ever gotten to that precious feeling of _right_ that he'd had back when he was a kid.

"It means a lot to you, doesn't it," the sheriff observed, the words very obviously not a question. "Being part of the Pack."

"It does to all of us," Derek replied, knowing it was the truth, even if it was different for the others. It had to be. He knew they felt the bond as much as he did, but they didn't have the same baggage. Fates willing they never would.

"I'm not arguing the point," the sheriff said. "I'm not blind, I've seen how its affected Stiles and the others. But it means something different to you, I think." He paused before he said simply, "Family."

The sheriff it seemed was just as good as his son at seeing the things that Derek wouldn't quite dare say. "Yeah," he finally admitted, voice rougher than he'd meant it to be. But this was never going to be a topic that was easy for Derek to vocalize. He wondered if he could ask for them to change the subject without seeming rude.

"Losing his mom changed Stiles," the sheriff said, granting the unspoken request although Derek wasn't sure this topic was much better. "It changed both of us, really, how could it not? But Stiles... in some ways he shut down. Losing his mom hurt him so much it was like he didn't want to care about anyone to avoid having to go through that again."

Derek knew that feeling well, so very well. He had spent literally years in that state and, if he was honest with himself, it was only recently that he'd really started to put that behind him. But that wasn't the Stiles he knew. "He got over it," he said, not to dismiss the information that the sheriff was sharing, but as an affirmation that Stiles had recovered.

The sheriff gave him a strange look, before his gaze dropped back down to his sleeping son. "Stiles has never been good at stopping caring once he starts. He tried though, when Claudia died, he tried to pull back from everyone, even when he was terrified of losing more. The first couple of months after he spent alternately clinging to me like I was going to disappear the second I was out of his sight and pushing me away in as many creative ways a nine year old boy could come up with -- and Stiles was nothing if not creative.

"He did the same with Scott and I'll tell ya, I'd love that kid just for the way he took all the crap that Stiles dished out and never let him push him away. Eventually Stiles stopped trying. And while he stopped clinging quite so much, he kind of acted like it was his life's work to protect everyone he cared about." The sheriff's tone turned a bit wry. "That hasn't stopped."

"I noticed," Derek replied, his voice every bit as wry. That was one of the things that made Stiles such a natural at being the Pack Emissary, but his thrusting himself into situations that no sane normal human should or would go had driven Derek to exasperation more than once in the past.

The sheriff grinned a little. "Subtle my kid isn't." The grin turned to something more gentle and affectionate and he reached out and ran a hand through Stiles' hair. Stiles stirred a little but didn't wake, muttering under his breath into Derek's shoulder he was using as a pillow.

The bond between the two Stilinski's was so obvious that Derek almost felt like he could reach out and touch it. It made the sheriff feel a little bit like Pack because Stiles was, and brought Derek's own family to mind with a more severe pang than usual.

"So yeah," the sheriff continued, "Stiles goes out of his way to protect the people he cares about which still may not be the best coping mechanism, but is still infinitely better than pushing everybody away. But I gradually noticed something -- he actually never stopped pushing other people away. All the people he seemed to allow himself to really care about were people he'd formed attachments to before Claudia died. Anybody he didn't know or care about before he lost his mom was kept at arm's length.

"Until Scott got bit and they got involved with this whole werewolf thing. I know he's been through a lot more crap this past year than any teenager should have to go through -- you all have been -- but in some ways it's been good for him. He's reached out, let more people in, even if it's just a few." He smiled faintly at Derek. "So I think Stiles at least would understand exactly what the Pack means to you. It means the same thing to him."

Derek nodded, taking in this new knowledge and turning it over in his head. It wasn't like he hadn't known on some level that Stiles was as guarded as Derek was in letting people in, that he just went about keeping people at a distance in a different way, using words instead of silence to push them away. And he had realized that somewhere along the line Stiles had let him in, the same way that Derek had realized he had stopped trying to keep Stiles at arm's length himself. He just hadn't, really, truly, got that it was just as significant an action for Stiles as it had been for him.

He looked up again to find the sheriff watching him with a strange, knowing smile on his face. Derek raised a questioning eyebrow and the sheriff's smile just widened. 

"I'm going to get a refill," the sheriff said, climbing to his feet and gathering up his and Stiles' mugs. "You want another?"

Derek shook his head. "I'm good, but thanks." The sheriff nodded and headed into the kitchen.

Leaving Derek alone with the sleeping Stiles.

Which shouldn't have seemed so weird or unusual by now -- he'd spent the previous two nights watching the kid sleep after all and everybody involved had been okay with it, jokes about him being a creepy watcher aside. This shouldn't have been any different except for somehow it was.

The only thing really that was different was the distance. He wasn't sitting across the room this time, he was right there beside Stiles, Stiles was actually slumped against him. It was... nice. Intimate.

Not in any improper way, he was quick to categorize to himself. It wasn't about that. But the trust it implied Stiles had in him, that was the thing that was making him feel warm all over. It was Pack, but it was more than just Pack. It... it meant _something_ and Derek wasn't sure if he needed or wanted to look at it any deeper than that. 

Not yet at least.

For now he'd rather take in the experience, saving the memory for some future time when he might be in need of a little warmth and comfort.

****

Stiles woke up to a kink in his neck, the smell of breakfast cooking, and something warm and rumbling under his head. 

He opened his eyes to find himself still on the couch which explained the kink in his neck. He could hear the familiar sounds of his dad moving around the kitchen which explained the smell of breakfast. That left warm and rumbling, which was explained by the fact that he was lying half plastered against Derek, his head buried in the crook of Derek's shoulder. Derek's head was tilted back against the top of the couch, his eyes closed, his mouth open to emit the soft rumbling noises that had only sounded so loud to Stiles because he practically had his ear pressed against Derek's throat.

Stiles did what any sane and rational person would in this circumstance -- he went completely still and tense, while he tried not to panic.

Actually, scratch that. Any sane and rational person probably would've flailed away and fallen off the couch in an effort to get out of what any objective observer would see as a very incriminating position, especially with his father in the next room. Not that there was anything to incriminate -- sure, objectively Stiles would admit that Derek was the epitome of male hotness, but it wasn't like Stiles did anything more than objectively note that. Objectively. He didn't think of Derek that way. Derek was a friend, was _Pack_ , was _Safety_ , that was all so much more important than any crush Stiles most certainly did not have anyway.

Some part of his brain not involved in his inner freaking out noted that the soft rumbling noises had stopped and he glanced up to see Derek awake and watching him. Now Stiles did try to flail away and would indeed have fallen off the couch if Derek hadn't caught him, looking amused. 

Stiles opened his mouth to say something witty or apologize or _something_ , but what came out was, "You snore."

Derek's eyebrows climbed his forehead in surprise at that and his mouth turned down at the corners in an expression that might be a frown when it grew up. "No, I don't."

"Dude, you totally do!" Stiles protested. "Granted, not super loud or anything, not like chainsaws or something. More like a well tuned sports car motor, or like a big cat purring. Oh my god, it was totally a purr! Dude, you totally were purring! And you're getting angry eyebrows so I'm going to shut up now." He resisted the urge to face palm at his out of control babbling but only just barely.

Surprisingly, Derek just heaved a huge sigh and the angry eyebrows went away, replaced by an expression that conveyed more fond exasperation. "Sleep well?" he asked.

Stiles grabbed onto the subject change with both hands. "Yeah. Unexpectedly so. I didn't think I would even be able to fall asleep much less stay that way after what happened, but I was obviously proven wrong." He paused, then added, "Sorry for, y'know, using you as a makeshift pillow."

"No big deal," Derek said, dismissing the apology. 

"I didn't drool on you any did I?" Stiles peered closer, at Derek's shoulder where he'd been leaning.

Derek shrugged. "Not enough to worry about," and Stiles grimaced in embarrassment. "Sorry for falling sleep on you."

Stiles frowned in confusion. "Hey, I was the one who fell asleep on y-" He broke and realized Derek was apologizing for something far more basic. "Seriously? You're saying sorry for falling asleep?"

"I was supposed to be keeping guard," Derek said, very carefully not looking at Stiles.

"So..." Stiles said slowly, "you're saying you wouldn't have woken up at the first sign of anything out of the ordinary?"

"Course I would have." Derek frowned. "But you were trusting me to guard you."

It was actually kind of adorable how guilty Derek was feeling about that. Unnecessarily so, and Stiles was going to make sure Derek understood that, but that didn't make it any less adorable. 

"I was," he said, nudging Derek's shoulder with his own. "And you did. I don't want you being all sleep deprived grumpy wolf. We had this discussion yesterday, remember? About testing if the guarding my dreams works just as well if you get some sleep too, and," he gestured at the both of them, "apparently it does. Hypothesis proven, well done."

Derek was still frowning. "You were trusting me to stay awake last night, though. Especially after-"

"Dude, I was trusting you to be here for me!" Stiles interrupted with an eye roll. "To have my back if I needed you to. And you did all that with flying colors. Seriously, I don't care that you got a bit of shut eye too, I'm actually happy you did. Get that through your thick werewolf skull already and stop with the guilt tripping."

Derek finally shifted his gaze to actually look at Stiles and searched his face for several heartbeats' worth of time before finally seeming to relax with a sigh. "Okay."

"Good." Stiles nudged shoulders with him again and then stood up. "Even I with my non-werewolf senses can smell bacon so I say we should head into the kitchen and help save my Dad's arteries by offering to eat most of it. What do you say?"

Not much turned out to be the answer, but Derek did smile faintly as he got up off the couch and followed Stiles into the kitchen.

Stiles' dad was, as expected, standing in front of the stove, frying up bacon in one pan and what looked like french toast in the other. "Smells good," Stiles observed, mouth watering.

Dad tossed a grin over his shoulder at them. "What, no wisecrack about dietary restrictions?"

"Nah, not this morning. I officially am giving you a pass for today." After last night, Stiles knew he'd let his dad do pretty much anything without complaint today, even stuff that usually made him throw a conniption fit. He stepped up behind his dad and wrapped his arms around him in a hug that probably should've felt awkward but didn't. 

Dad patted his hands. "Sleep well, kid?"

"Considering I thought I was going to be awake until roughly Tuesday, surprisingly so. You?"

Dad shook his head. "I'll take a nap later before I have to go into work."

Stiles sighed, but it wasn't unexpected. He doubted he would've managed to get any more sleep if he'd had a dream about Mom telling him to kill himself either. 

Plus, considering his own sleep patterns for the last few months, if he continued to push it Stiles had the feeling his dad would be calling him the pot to his kettle. Which would be totally fair.

Annoying as hell, but fair.

"If you two want to grab some plates, I think this is ready," Dad said, and Stiles leaped to do so, grabbing two plates out of the cupboard and bringing them over for his dad to pile high with breakfast food.

He then went over to where Derek was standing in front of the coffee maker and handed one of the plates to him, pausing to pour himself a cup of coffee before taking both coffee and food to the table. 

He was just about to dig in, when he noticed that Derek was still standing where he left him, looking down at the plate Stiles had shoved into his hands with something that looked like bemusement. "Dude," he said. "It's breakfast. You bring it over here the to the table, sit down and eat it" He paused. "You're seriously not a morning person are you?"

Stiles watched as Derek and his dad exchanged some kind of amused, knowing look, then Derek's mouth quirked up into that small smile that was becoming increasingly more common to catch on his face and did what Stiles had requested, coming over and sitting beside him. 

"Thank you, sir," Derek said to Stiles' dad before he started eating.

"No problem," Dad replied, dishing up his own plate and turning the stove off. He continued as he came over to join them, "It's a Stilinski family rule of long standing -- if you're in the house at breakfast time, you will sit at the table and eat breakfast. No exceptions."

Derek raised an eyebrow at that. "Sounds like there's a story there."

"Only that I was a hyperactive little bugger when I was young," Stiles said with a shrug, "and wanted to be doing pretty much anything other than sitting down to eat at the table for whole minutes at a time. Sheer torture for five year old me, let me tell you."

Dad grinned. "The rule was only originally supposed to only be for Stiles here, but you might have noticed this tendency he has to argue and look for loopholes. It was just easier in the long run to make it for everyone after the tenth time he whined that Scott was here waiting for him and why didn't he have to sit and eat breakfast too?"

Stiles couldn't help but grin at that too. "Scott ended up a lot of mornings having breakfast at his place, then coming over here and having second breakfast before we headed to school." That whole routine of it had only lasted until his mom had got really sick, but they hadn't ever really revoked the rule so they could certainly apply it to Derek now.

Derek's head came up and he turned to stare in the direction of the door a few seconds before there was a knock at said door. "It's Scott," he said before either Stiles or hid Dad could get up to answer it.

"Gotta love that werewolf early detection," Stiles quipped, as he headed out of the kitchen to let Scott in.

"Hey, buddy," he greeted his friend with a grin when he opened the door. "We were just talking about you." 

Scott's eyebrows went up. "You were?"

"Yeah. About how you used to scam second breakfast here every morning before we headed to school. Since Dad made Derek actually sit down and eat with us."

That got him a wide Scott grin. "I remember. The good thing about them was then it didn't matter so much if I got my lunch stolen. Which happened... more than I'd like to admit."

"And look at you now," Stiles said, clapping Scott on the shoulder as he let him in. "Grew up into a strong strapping young alpha werewolf. No one's even taking your lunch ever again."

Scott grinned again and then got serious. "I know I probably should've called before coming over, but I just wanted-"

"-to see for yourself that everything is okay after the alarming events of last night," Stiles finished for him. "No worries, I get it. Come on in. There's probably enough left that we can revisit the concept of feeding you second breakfast as we talk."

Scott followed him back into the dining room, nodding at Derek before turning his attention to Stiles' dad. Stiles saw Scott's nostrils flare and knew that he was using every sense at his disposal to double check that Dad was okay. 

Dad obviously caught what Scott was doing as well because he rolled his eyes. "I'm fine, Scott."

"Just making sure," Scott replied, utterly unapologetic at getting caught checking. "But I'm really glad to hear it. And not just for Stiles' sake."

There was still some food left on the stove so Stiles went and got Scott a plate ready which he handed to him before sitting back down at his own breakfast. "Sit. Eat, and we'll give you the play by play of what happened last night."

The subject matter wasn't exactly the kind of thing that made good breakfast conversation, but in the last year Stiles had learned to be able to talk about almost anything no matter how upsetting while eating because otherwise some days he would've starved. And, anyway, this time it had all turned out okay in the end so it wasn't as distressing as some conversations they'd had.

Still, Stiles found himself fidgeting as they talked, knocking his leg against his dad's under the table. He chalked it up to a subconscious desire to verify that Dad was actually there and okay and didn't do much to stop it. 

"You sure you're all right?" Scott asked Stiles' Dad when they'd finished the whole story. 

Dad nodded. "Seem to be. It all feels like some kind of insane dream now when I think about it. Whatever it was, Stiles seemed to have broke the compulsion."

"Good," Scott said, even as Stiles breathed another sigh of relief that he'd been able to. Scott turned to Stiles then. "I think maybe you should tag along when I go talk to Deaton."

Since Stiles had been starting to consider arguments for just that outcome, he nodded easily. "Sure. He's as good a bet as anyone to tell us what that was all about. Not that we have more than even odds of understanding his answer if he does have one, but still."

For the first time in the conversation, Derek stirred. "I think there's another possible source of information I can check out," he said carefully. "It might not be reliable, but it still could give us something to go on."

Stiles narrowed his eyes as he looked at Derek. "You're going to go see Peter."

Derek nodded. "I don't trust him, but Peter's smart. And he knows more about magic than he lets on most of the time. Even if he won't tell me anything outright, what he does say might give us a clue where to start looking." He turned to Scott. "I don't know what his interactions with the Pack have been since I've left-"

"Non-existent, really," Scott replied. "I mean, I sense him around in town sometimes, but he's pretty much kept to himself."

"Like you said," Stiles put in, "Peter's smart, even if he is a complete douchebag and probably psychotic. He has to know that we'd kill him just as soon as look at him if he gave us half a reason." He paused and glanced guiltily at his dad. The _sheriff_. "Uh, hypothetically speaking, of course. We're all good upstanding law abiding werewolves and werewolf adjacent teenagers here."

Dad's mouth twitched. "Since he is, officially, still a missing person, presumed dead, I doubt any... extreme measures would even come to the attention of the law. And I'm sure if it ever came down to that option and was officially noticed, it would always be in a case of self defence."

"Even if we shoot him in the back with wolfsbane bullets?" Stiles asked.

"Self defence," Dad repeated. "Although, the report in that case would probably have to be more... creative." Stiles grinned. 

Derek glanced between the two of them, one side of his mouth quirking up. "I'm suddenly seeing the family resemblance," he dead panned. 

"I know!" Stiles agreed, still grinning. He leaned over so he could throw an arm around his dad's shoulders. "Isn't it great?"

Dad just coughed and took a long drink of his coffee. "Eat your breakfast, Stiles."

"Yes, sir," Stiles said agreeably, moving back to his chair to obey. "So you really think Peter might be useful?" he asked around a mouthful of French toast.

Derek gave a half shrug. "I think there's enough of a possibility that he could be that I should talk to him."

"Alright," Scott said, with a firm nod. An Alpha Nod, Stiles mentally dubbed it. "But I don't like the idea of you going alone."

"He is my uncle," Derek pointed out. 

Stiles barely bit back on reciting all of the reasons why that wasn't a good enough reason not to take back up, partially because his dad didn't need to know _exactly_ how bad things had got back in the beginning and the kind of crimes Stiles had been involved in -- _like setting an insane werewolf on fire_ \-- and partially because it would be in pretty bad taste to use things like Derek's sister's death as a point to win an argument. Instead he just said carefully, "We don't really have any idea what he's been up to for the last six months and neither do you. It'll make us all feel better if you have back up with you in case Peter's jumped a ride on the crazy train again."

Still not the most sensitive way he could've put it, admittedly, but better than bringing Laura up.

Derek looked like he wanted to argue some more, but after a long look at Stiles, sighed and nodded. "Fine. I can take Isaac with me."

Stiles wondered exactly what Derek had seen in his face to make him give in so easily, but couldn't think of a non awkward way to ask.

"Thanks," Scott said, giving Derek another Alpha Nod. Derek nodded back and turned his attention to his breakfast. 

"Did Allison have a chance to ask her father about the coin last night?" Stiles asked, after a slight lull in the conversation.

Scott nodded. "Apparently he thought it looked familiar, but needed to check some things out before he could tell us anything more."

"Which translates into he doesn't have any more idea than we do, but doesn't want to admit it. And that he's going to get his hunterly research on," Stiles said.

"Pretty much, yeah, "Scott agreed. 

"I'll check into Charlotte Hansen's background some more when I go into work," Dad said. "See if there's anyone who might have wanted her dead."

"It went after you too," Stiles reminded him, but immediately started thinking about it. "I suppose that could've been incidental," he said slowly, though something going after his _dad_ would never feel anything but personal. "Like the little kid or the kindly old grandmother that gets gunned down by some gang banger doing a drive by with an uzi. They weren't aiming for you, but they didn't care who they took out."

Dad nodded. "And even if it was completely random, that disc got into her possession somehow. It didn't just appear in her bedroom like-" he abruptly cut himself off.

"Like magic?" Stiles couldn't help but grin a little despite the topic. 

"I still have the power to ground you, you know," Dad told him which only made him grin wider. 

"It's adorable that you still think that works." He finished the last bite of his breakfast and pushed the plate away. To Scott, he said, "Give me ten minutes to get changed and make myself presentable and I'll be ready to go."

Scott nodded and waved him off before turning back to his own food. "Take your time. I'm still working on second breakfast anyway."

Stiles went upstairs still chuckling warmly. It was nice to know that even with werewolves and hunters and scary ass magic, some things never changed.

*****

Isaac was waiting on the porch for Derek when he got to the McCall house.

"Scott called you," he said when Isaac slid into the passenger seat of his car. 

It wasn't a question but Isaac nodded anyway. "So Peter," he said.

"Yeah. Figured this was just the kind of bat shit thing he might know about." He glanced sideways at Isaac. "You okay with being backup?"

Isaac nodded again. "Totally," he said, sounding completely nonchalant about it, but his scent told Derek he was actually shyly pleased at being asked.

His and Isaac's relationship was... complicated to say the least. Derek could admit to himself now that he had been a terrible Alpha but that didn't mean he hadn't cared for his betas. He'd turned Isaac, given him the bite, made him like he was. That kind of thing formed a bond whether you wanted it to or not. There was still a bond between them even now, with his alpha powers gone and Isaac looking to Scott as his Alpha. Derek supposed there always would be.

Neither of them were really talkers so it wasn't very surprising that the first part of the car ride was silent. Derek wasn't even sure if it was actually an uncomfortable silence, or if he'd just been spending too much time with Stiles and his constant chatter. 

Still, he thought, maybe he should make the effort to actually communicate. Use his words. He wondered if he should worry that that advice echoed through his mind in Stiles' voice.

He cleared his throat, which caused Isaac to look over at him instead of staring out the window. "So..." he began and then paused, not sure exactly what he could or should say. 

He finally grabbed onto the mixture of scents that were hanging around Isaac as a subject and asked, "You and Allison?"

Isaac blinked. "Uh, yeah," he said, sounding tentative. "Well, sort of. It's a lot of... without a lot of... Y'know."

"Um," Derek replied intelligently. He wasn't quite sure he did know.

"We both talk a good game, but it hasn't really gone much past talking," Isaac clarified. "And there's her Dad, who really is an ally of the Pack now, but he's still a hunter. He isn't exactly comfortable with Allison seeing another werewolf. And, of course, there's Scott. Which, um." Isaac gave a helpless shrug. "It's complicated."

Derek supposed it would be. "Is Scott not okay with you two getting together?"

"He _says_ he is. Every time I ask him, he says it's fine. But..."

"But?" Derek prompted.

Isaac sighed and leaned his head against the window. "But he doesn't _smell_ fine."

Derek tried to think what Stiles would say to that. "You point that out to him?" 

"Not really." Isaac grimaced. "Probably because I'm not sure I want him to admit it. I mean, I'm living at his house and he's my Alpha. If he really got mad at me, things could get... awkward."

Meaning he was afraid if he pushed it, he could lose both Pack and home. 

Because that hadn't happened before or anything. It was Derek's turn to grimace.

"I owe you an apology," he blurted.

Isaac sat up and turned to look at him, more curious than anything. "For what?"

Derek took his eyes off the road long enough to meet Isaac's gaze. "You know for what." 

_The night I threw you out. The night I acted like your asshole of a father to try and scare you away._

Isaac didn't pretend not to understand what Derek was talking about. "I know why you did it," he said, calmly. "You were trying to protect me."

"That's no excuse," Derek said. 

"No it's, not," Isaac agreed instantly. "But it is an explanation. One I can live with." He paused. "Okay?"

It wasn't okay. Using what he'd known about Isaac's father abusing him even if he'd been doing so with the best of intentions was far from okay. But Isaac was the wronged party here and if he wanted to waive it away, then Derek would let him. He'd had plenty of practice at carrying the guilt for things he could never be absolved for anyway. 

So he nodded and through gritted teeth, said, "Okay."

He thought that was going to be the end of the conversation, and it was quiet in the car for the next minute or two. But then Isaac stirred and said, "It makes a difference."

Derek just slid his gaze sideways at Isaac, letting his silence be question enough.

With Isaac it was. "Your apologizing. My father never apologized for... well, any of it. So, uh, apology accepted. And thanks."

Derek gave a short, sharp nod in acknowledgement. 

"Just, if the situation ever comes up again, maybe try something a little more radical like actually telling me what's going on," Isaac added.

That made Derek smirk just a little. "You sound like Stiles."

Isaac seemed to think that over. "Do you listen when he says it?"

"I've been trying to," he said honestly. "When he makes sense at least."

"So about a third of the time?"

Derek's smirk widened. "About that, yeah." 

Silence fell inside the car again for the rest of the drive, but this time there was no doubt that it was comfortable. 

Derek pulled up in front of Peter's apartment building. It was in a far busier and nicer part of town than his own loft. Derek hated it. He had never felt comfortable here, and not just because being around Peter carried a certain portion of discomfort in and of itself. 

Isaac was looking at the building through the windshield. "This is where Peter lives?"

"Last I knew," Derek replied, suddenly wondering if Peter had moved since he'd left Beacon Hills with Cora. But why would he? Even if he was back to scheming, no one but Derek and Cora had known his address and they'd been gone. 

"Somehow I always pictured something more super villain lair and less upwardly mobile," Isaac said dryly.

"Then he wouldn't have been able to make jokes about my living conditions," Derek pointed out. If there was one thing Peter could always be counted on to do -- and had been since before the Fire -- it was to inform Derek in exacting detail just what he was doing wrong. Derek's choice of accommodations was only one item on a list that had been far too long.

Isaac tilted his head to the side in a 'fair enough' gesture. "Do you want me to go in with you?" he asked. "Or wait here?"

"Might as well come with me," Derek said, after a moment's thought. He didn't really think Peter would try anything violent, more because it would draw unwanted attention from his neighbors than for any familial reasons, and he was pretty confident in his ability to kick Peter's ass from here to the Preserve and back if it came down to it, but still. It never hurt to have backup.

Isaac nodded and got out of the car when Derek did, following him into the building. 

There were mailboxes for all the residents directly inside the entrance and Derek caught Peter's scent all over the one that was marked with Peter's apartment number. Fresh enough that it confirmed that Peter was indeed still living there.

Isaac had caught the scent as well and was glancing at the building directory, raising an eyebrow when he saw what name was listed by that apartment number. "He's seriously using the name Peter Wolfe?"

"You've met him," Derek replied. "That's Peter's idea of ironic humor."

"His humor sucks."

Derek smiled faintly. "I'm not arguing with you."

He led the way to the elevator, punching the right button when they got in. Isaac fidgeted a little when the doors closed.

"You okay?" Derek asked, glancing over at him.

"Fine," Isaac said, though his scent and heartbeat said that wasn't exactly the truth. Not quite a lie, but...  
"I'm just more of a stairs person."

Derek suddenly remembered Isaac's problem with small enclosed spaces and the reason behind it and mentally kicked himself for not doing so earlier. He bit his tongue on an apology as he was pretty certain Isaac wouldn't want more attention drawn to the situation. Instead, Derek just nodded and offered, "We can take the stairs when we go back down."

"Thanks," Isaac said, his heartbeat slowing just the smallest amount at the offer.

Luckily it wasn't a long ride and it was only a few more seconds before the doors opened on the right floor, Isaac tumbling out first giving off a palpable aura of relief. 

Even though he was no longer Isaac's Alpha -- or an Alpha at all -- Derek found himself reaching out and resting a hand on the back of Isaac's neck in a comforting, grounding gesture. "Okay?"

It seemed to have the desired effect as he felt the tension ease in Isaac's muscles. "Yeah," he said, blowing out his breath. When he looked up at Derek, Isaac's usual self possession was back in place. "Which way?"

Derek led the way down the hall to Peter's door and knocked. He could hear someone moving around inside, tell by scent that it was his uncle. The slight pause before the door opened told him that Peter had caught their scent as well.

When Peter did open the door, he did it just far enough to look out. "Whatever it is, the answer is no," he said and immediately tried to shut the door again.

Derek got there first, bracing his hand against the door to keep it open, then shoving against it hard enough to send Peter stumbling back and giving him and Isaac room to make it inside.

Peter glared at them from where he had stumbled back. "You never were good at taking no for an answer." He made an overly dramatic welcoming gesture. "By all means, please come in."

"Not happy to see me?" Derek asked, matching Peter's deadpan tone.

"Considering the last time we talked you were several states away playing happy Pack with Cora, and I cannot fathom any reason you'd want to come back here that doesn't actually mean bad things are happening, no, not really." He turned and headed deeper into his apartment, tossing over his shoulder. "Though I suppose now that you're here I should make an effort at being a good host. Coffee?"

Derek trailed after him, Isaac a silent support at his back. "We need to talk."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Of course we do. As long as we keep it to just talk. The walls here are not as thick as they could be and I don't need my neighbors calling the cops because you've decided to throw me through some of them." He walked into the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the fancy espresso machine on the counter. "You sure you don't want any....?"

Derek just stood in the doorway separating the kitchen from the living room, with his arms crossed and silently glared at his uncle.

With a long world weary sigh, Peter leaned back against the counter. "Okay, let's get this over with. What am I supposed to have done this time?"

"Why don't you tell us?" Derek asked, raising a judgemental eyebrow. 

"As far as I know, nothing. I've been living a peaceful and inoffensive existence since you and Cora left town. Without you dragging me into whatever the crisis du jour is, my life has been blissfully uneventful." He gave another heavy sigh. "I have the feeling that that's about to change."

Derek stared at him silently for another long moment, training all his senses on Peter looking for signs of deceit, but his uncle had always been uncannily good at deception for a werwolf. He was almost certain Peter was up to something -- Peter was _always_ up to something -- but with no proof, he decided to take him at his word for now and just keep a watchful eye out. 

"I need to show you something and I want you to tell me if you know anything about it," he said, pulling out his phone and calling up the photos of the wooden disc he'd taken the day before. He handed it to Peter whose eyebrows went up when he looked at it.

"Where did you get this?" he asked.

"Do you know what it is?" Derek countered.

"Bad news," Peter replied. "So please tell me you didn't touch it." He looked faintly alarmed. "Or brought it here?"

"It's been destroyed," Derek told him. "Tell me what it is."

"A piece of a very powerful and very dangerous sympathetic magic," Peter said. "Something that up until a moment ago I had always thought was just a legend, and thankfully so."

That... did not sound good. "What sort of legend?" he asked.

Peter leaned back against the counter and took a long sip of his coffee before answering. All signs pointed to him actually enjoying this and Derek had to restrain the urge to growl subvocally at him to get on with it. "It's about a druid," Peter finally said. "An emissary to a pack, but he had... impure intentions. What he cared about most was power and he went to dark, forbidden lengths to get it. He found a way to bind his essence to a tree of power, mingling its strength with his own. 

"He took branches from it, cut them into small pieces and carved symbols imbuing them with spells that would let him gather even more power from those that touched them. With those he was able to not only take control of his pack, but the surrounding human settlements. 

"He stayed in power for some absurdly long length of time -- some versions of the legend say twenty years, some say fifty, I've even heard it told once with a hundred years as the figure -- until a young upstart figured out that if they destroyed the tree, it would weaken him sufficiently for them to kill him. He managed to form a coalition of hunters and werewolves, and they chopped down the tree, captured the druid -- though I suppose he was properly a darach by then -- and burned him at the stake." He grimaced. "I found that part of the tale much less disturbing before I had an idea of what that felt like."

Derek couldn't help but echo the grimace as he forced thoughts of fire and burning alive to the back of his mind where they usually lived. He might not have quite the same intimate, personal knowledge of them as Peter did, but they were never going to be something that he was comfortable thinking about. Even as details in an old story that might turn out to be more than just an old story.

"A tree of power," Isaac said, speaking up for the first time. "Do you think that's the Nemeton? Our Nemeton I mean?"

Peter gave a half shrug. "I never heard the story with an actual location mentioned, but it being local would explain why it seemed to be one of my grandfather's favourites to tell."

"Why haven't I heard it before?" Derek wondered. Not that he'd even remembered his great-grandfather, but there were many stories he'd been told as a child that started out with his name being invoked as the source.

Peter shrugged again. "Talia never really liked that particular story so it fell out of favor. And you never listened to me when I told you things your mother didn't want you to hear. Or when I told you things she did want you to hear. You just never listened."

"Maybe because you always got me into trouble when I did listen to you," Derek shot back. Though sadly it took him far longer to learn that lesson than it should've.

"I'm shocked and dismayed at what you're implying, really I am," Peter said, hand on his chest and a bad impression of a hurt expression on his face.

"No you're not." Derek had little to no patience for his uncle's antics anymore. "So you think the disc is one of the ones mentioned in the legend?" It made a depressing amount of sense considering it had felt like the Nemeton to all of them who had been to the remains of the old tree.

"Or a piece of spellwork that is similar. Those pictures you have match the description remarkably well."

It was more than they knew before. He gave Peter a grudging nod. "Thanks." Gathering Isaac up with a glance, he turned to go.

"If you find another one, perhaps you should give me a call," Peter said to their retreating backs. "To help make sure you properly destroy it."

Derek snorted. Peter was nothing if not consistent with his transparent power grabs. "Yeah, that won't be happening," he tossed over his shoulder as he walked out and then took great pleasure in shutting the door in Peter's face before he could say anything else.

He'd learned long ago that that was really the only way to shut Peter up.

******

They were halfway to the animal clinic when Stiles snapped.

"Okay what?" he demanded, taking his eyes off the road long enough to glance over at Scott. "You've been staring at me all weird since we left the house. Do I have egg on my face or something?"

"Dude, if you had egg on your face, I would've said something before you left the breakfast table," Scott said.

"...Point," Stiles admitted. "But that doesn't explain the whole staring at me bit. Derek's already filled the position of creepy yet reassuring watcher in my life, I don't need you to start with it too."

Scott grimaced. "Sorry. I just... are _you_ okay? After last night, with your dad and all..."

"I'm fine." Stiles' grip on the steering wheel tightened involuntarily and he had to take a couple of deep breaths and make a deliberate attempt to loosen it again. "Everything worked out, and no one got hurt, so why wouldn't I be fine?" He _was_ fine, perfectly fine.

Really.

"I can hear your heartbeat," Scott reminded him, and since Stiles could feel it speeding up at the memories, he knew he was busted. 

He wasn't going to have this conversation and try to drive at the same time. He pulled the jeep off to the side of the road, turned the engine off and rested his head against the steering wheel. 

After a few minutes of just breathing, he looked up to find Scott carefully not looking at him. He knew Scott's other senses could tell him just as much if not more than watching Stiles would, but he appreciated the effort to give him at least the illusion of privacy.

"I am fine," he said, reaching out and squeezing Scott's arm in thanks. "But yeah... it was... not good. Very not good. It's my _dad_ , Scott. I was..." He let out a breath of a humourless laugh. "I was freaking terrified, man. I thought I was going to watch my Dad blow his brains out right in front of me."

Scott reversed their grips, so he was now squeezing Stiles' arm in reassurance. "He didn't though."

Stiles blew out his breath, trying to rid himself of the mental image of what could have happened. "Yeah," he finally said. "He said afterwards that I was what stopped him. Even before I talked him down, just the thought of me was enough to keep him from giving in."

"That's good, right?" Scott asked. "You were saving the day just by existing."

Stiles gave a snort of laughter. "I saved the day by having a lighter and not being afraid to use it, but I guess my existence at least can be blamed for holding the line until then." He looked over at Scott. "And I was doing perfectly fine dealing with last night's events through denial before you had to go and ask me how I was. I hate you."

Scott grinned at him. "No you don't."

"No, I don't," Stiles admitted with a sigh. Really, it was Scott. How could anyone hate Scott? "I should though. Stop messing with my denial coping mechanisms. They work."

"You feel better now though, right?"

He did, but... He narrowed his eyes at Scott. "If I say yes, you're just going to take it as permission to continue messing with the denial coping mechanism whenever you feel like it aren't you?"

"I'm pretty much going to do that anyway," Scott said with a shrug and Stiles knew that too. This wasn't the first time he'd prodded until Stiles talked about something he was trying to avoid dealing with.

"And I'm back to hating you," he said as he started the jeep up again, though he really didn't mean it.

Scott grinned. "I'm your Alpha. You're not allowed to hate me."

"Pretty sure I am," Stiles shot back with an equal sized grin. He checked his mirror for oncoming cars and pulled smoothly back into the flow of traffic. Scott's comment had reminded him of something. "Hey did I ever tell you what Derek pointed out to me the other night?"

"I don't think so," Scott said, frowning a little as he tried to remember. "What did he tell you?"

"He told me that _I_ was the Pack Emissary," Stiles said with just a hint of smugness he couldn't hide. Because it was still really cool.

"Uh-huh. And?" Scott asked, like he expected more to it than that.

Stiles frowned. "What do you mean 'Uh-huh. And?' What kind of reaction is that? I just told you that I'm the Pack Emissary."

"That's not exactly news, dude," Scott told him. 

"You already knew?"

Scott shrugged. "I'm pretty sure you were my emissary even before there was a Pack. And if you can be an emissary without werewolves, you were mine before I got bit too."

Had everyone figured it out before him? Stiles was starting to feel like he'd been amazingly clueless. "You could've said something," he muttered. Not sulking, not at all. Nope. "I told you when I figured out you were a werewolf, didn't I?"

"I guess I didn't really think of it in terms of actual titles, man," Scott said, shrugging again. "I mean, you're _Stiles_ , that kind of trumps any other titles in my head."

"You know my name isn't an actual title," Stiles pointed out, though he couldn't keep his lips from twitching from a barely held in smile. So, okay, not sulking after all.

"Of course not," Scott agreed. "That's because it's not something anyone can be. There's only one Stiles." He said it with a straight face and no hint of anything but serious belief. God, Stiles loved him.

"Damn straight," Stiles said. "Though I think I'll keep the title of Emissary if anyone ever asks. 'I am the Pack's Stiles would just take way too much time to explain the awesome."

Scott nodded. "Probably for the best. Don't want the other packs to get jealous."

"Definitely. A true alpha _and_ a Stiles? They'd be crying their little wolfy hearts out."

There was a beat or two of silence then Stiles glanced over at Scott. When he met his gaze they both cracked up.

"Dude, I don't care what you label yourself," Scott said, still smiling. "I'm just glad you're in my Pack."

"Right back at you, buddy." He pulled into the Animal Clinic parking lot and parked the jeep. "Moment over," he said as he turned off the engine. "Let's go see if your boss knows anything and will actually share with the class."

They found Deaton in his office doing veterinariany things, or possibly druidy things, but Stiles let himself believe it was the former for his peace of mind.

"Scott," he greeted as they walked in. A slight pause and he added, "And Stiles." He glanced back at Scott. "I take it this isn't just you showing up early for your shift today then?"

Scott shook his head. "We had a run in with something last night and we thought you might be able to tell us some more about." 

Deaton cocked his head to the side. "Werewolves?"

Stiles was the one who answered. "Magic," he said. 

Between him and Scott they told the whole story. Usually in these situations Stiles was the one who did the talking, but this time Scott took over when Stiles voice started shaking a little when he got to the confrontation with his dad, for which Stiles was grateful.

"Wait," Deaton stopped them at one point, looking up from the pictures of the disc Stiles had printed out to show him. "You _burned_ it?"

Stiles nodded. "I couldn't think of anything else to do. I was pretty sure I needed to destroy it and that seemed like the fastest way to do that." He paused, sudden doubt assailing him. "Was that... bad?"

"On the contrary," Deaton said, "destroying it with fire if you could get it to light was a good call."

Stiles frowned. "What do you mean if I could get it to light? It was wood, I took a lighter to it. Woosh!" He punctuated the final word with a exploding hand gesture.

"Items of this type generally resist attempts to destroy them," Deaton told them. "Most people wouldn't be able to. It takes more than a lighter to do so. It takes magic."

Scott was looking wide eyed between Deaton and him. "You mean Stiles used-"

"I didn't use anything except a cheap lighter," Stiles protested. "I put it in the sink, flicked my bic and put it to the flame. There was nothing magic about it. I didn't even say Abracadabra or anything!" 

It hadn't been magic. Well the disc obviously had been, but not what Stiles did. He would've known if it had been. Wouldn't he?

Deaton was studying him like he was an interesting case study or something. "What were you thinking when you were trying to get it to light?" he asked.

"I was thinking that this fucker was going to burn if I had to take a blow torch to it. I was going to destroy it and get it to let go of my dad," Stiles said bluntly, remembering the iron focus he'd had as he'd done it.

"And how did you feel afterwards?"

"Mostly relieved that it worked," Stiles replied. "And happy that my dad was okay."

"Were you tired?' Deaton pressed.

Stiles shrugged. "I guess. I mean I did fall asleep on the couch as soon as I stopped moving, so yeah, I guess I was pretty tired."

"Magic is a matter of will and belief, powered by the caster's life force, his spark," Deaton said. "The disc burned because you believed it would and would accept no other outcome. It would have taken a great deal of energy to overcome the inherent protections on the disc and that's why you were tired afterward."

"No way." Stiles stared at him. When put like that, it made sense, but still, he had trouble accepting it. "Are you saying I did magic -- and super duper overcome evil spells magic at that -- by _accident_?"

"It would appear so," Deaton said, seeming not the least bit phased by this information. "We should probably revisit the idea of you getting some training. If you have enough power to do that unconsciously, it could become dangerous if you don't know what you're doing."

Oh that was just _great_. "So if I don't let you teach me how to be Gandalf, I'll, what, accidentally blow up the school or something?"

"Probably not, unless you really wanted to," Deaton replied. "But if you have as much power as I'm beginning to suspect you have, it will make you a target."

"Yeah like we're not targets already," Stiles muttered, because this was just what they needed. "I'll... think about it, okay? That's the best I can do for now."

Deaton had an expression on his face like he wanted to argue some more, but Scott jumped in with a question before he could say anything else. 

"You sound like you recognized the disc," he said. "Can you tell us what it was?" Good old Scott. Always getting them back on track when Stiles let himself get distracted. Best friend ever.

Because regardless of whether he had more of a spark of magic than he thought, Stiles wasn't the important thing here. Finding out what the disc was and how to trace it back to whoever made it was.

"It's sympathetic magic," Deaton said. 

Stiles frowned, recognizing the term. "Like a voodoo doll?"

"Not exactly, though it is similar. But what you're thinking of, the spell let's whatever happens to the part be visited on the whole. These symbols do exactly the opposite; they imbue the part with the properties of the whole."

"Wait a second," Stiles said holding up a hand as his mind added in this new information. "So... that would make the disc feel like whatever it was originally part of?" At Deaton's nod, Stiles exploded. "Oh you've got to be fucking kidding me."

"What?" Scott asked, looking from one of them to the other.

"Scott, what did that disc feel like?" Stiles asked him.

Scott wasn't stupid. "The Nemeton," he answered, and that was all it took for his eyes to widen and for him to catch up to where Stiles was. "You mean that-"

"That the disc wasn't just some kind of freaky conduit, it was an actual piece of the Nemeton tree." Stiles glanced at Deaton. "If I'm understanding what you're implying correctly at least."

Deaton nodded. "Now you see why I was so surprised you were able to burn it."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, nodding because holy shit he'd destroyed a piece of the Nemeton. With a dollar store lighter. That was a lot more bad ass than he originally was giving himself credit for. _He_ was a lot more bad ass than he originally was giving himself credit for. "Maybe I will take you up on that training," he said faintly because that was a lot more power than he ever would've dreamed he could have and it was probably not a good thing if he continued going around tapping into it without even being aware of doing it. With great power came great responsibility and all that.

Another thought occurred to him. "Wait. Would the Nemeton have been able to sense when I destroyed its wooden offspring? Do I have to worry about having the creepy Evil Dead Tree pissed at me?"

Deaton gave him a strange look. "You do realize that the Nemeton isn't actually sentient, don't you?"

Stiles bit back on the words _It's doing a really good imitation of it in my dreams_ because he was aware of how crazy that sounded. Didn't mean he still didn't believe it. Didn't mean he still didn't feel like he had a target on his back.

"There's someone sentient involved in this somewhere though," Scott pointed out. "Even if it was powered by the Nemeton, someone would've had to have made it, right? Would they have been able to sense what Stiles did?"

"Almost certainly, yes," Deaton said and Stiles felt that target grow bigger. "If they were still around."

Scott shook his head, echoing Stiles' confusion. "Why wouldn't they still be around?"

"That particular spell is a very old one. So old it's more legend than fact to most people who concern themselves about this sort of thing," Deaton explained. 

"How do you know about it then?" Stiles asked. It maybe came out sounding more accusing than he meant it to. He didn't _actually_ suspect Deaton of anything shady no matter how frustrated he got with the man's unwillingness to drop the cryptic most of the time.

Deaton did not seem perturbed by the question. "I collect legends. I've found that there is often more than a grain of truth in even the most outlandish of stories. This spell being a case in point. Even in stories it was not something undertaken lightly. It granted a lot of power to the castor, but the cost was equally high. There's a better than average chance that whoever made that disc is long dead."

"So someone else found it and is using it somehow?" Scott asked.

"It's possible, but the actual answer may not be so nefarious. The disc drew its power from the Nemeton and until very recently, the Nemeton has been all but drained of power. The disc would have been rendered dormant, a curiosity maybe, but certainly not anything that could cause any damage."

Stiles gave a heavy sigh, seeing where this was going. "And then we went and charged the Nemeton back up and that would have woken up the disc."

Deaton nodded. "This could simply be a case of a dormant object of power being accidentally reactivated. The results, while certainly tragic, may not actually be a conscious attack."

"So it could have all just been an accident," Scott said, looking sad about it.

"Somehow that makes this whole thing even more tragic," Stiles said, thinking of the young woman who had died and definitely _not_ thinking about the same thing almost happening to his dad. "Though, on the callous, practical side if it's just a random magic item with a charge, we won't actually have to track down and deal with some power mad supernatural crazy which will make a nice change."

Scott brightened at that. "Hey, yeah."

"Come on," Stiles said, letting himself for once take what seemed to be good news at face value. It might blow up in his face later, but they'd deal with that when and if it happened. "It's Saturday, and the others aren't due to come over for a few more hours. Why don't you and I spend that time pretending we're normal teenagers and try to rot our brains with video games?"

If anything Scott brightened even more at the suggestion. Really, that was one of the things Stiles had always loved about the dude, how he could get ridiculously happy about small things and how he'd never been afraid to show it. "Sounds good." He turned to Deaton. "Thanks. We really appreciate your help."

"Yeah, thanks," Stiles chimed in. "You were surprisingly non-cryptic, it was a nice change."

"Stiles!" Scott hissed, hitting his arm, thankfully restraining his werewolfy strength when doing so.

"What?" Stiles asked, turning to him. "He totally was and it _was_ a nice change."

"Yeah, but you don't actually need to tell him that! It's not exactly polite!"

"You do realize he's still standing right there listening to us, right?" Stiles pointed out.

Scott winced and turned back to his boss, but Deaton, who had a faint smile on his face cut him off before he could say anything. "It's okay, Scott. I took it in the manner it was offered. You're both welcome. Stiles, give me a call when you're ready to work on training your magic and we'll set up some sessions."

"Yeah, I'll totally do that," Stiles said, walking backwards toward the door and tugging Scott with him. He wasn't actually sure if he meant it or not and knew it was going to take some serious thinking before he made up his mind one way or the other. 

But serious thoughts about magic were for later. After he kicked Scott's little werewolf ass at Call of Duty.

*****

Isaac said he had homework he wanted to get done before the pack meeting later so Derek dropped him back off at the McCalls before heading home to the loft.

What Peter had told them sounded like it could be accurate, and if it was it had probably been written down in one of the old books of history and tales that had filled the library in his childhood home. Unfortunately the library had burned to ash when his home and his childhood had.

But that didn't mean there weren't other pack libraries out there with their own collections of old tales. And there was one he knew of that he could even get access to. Or, more accurately, knew someone who could get access to it.

He called Cora.

His sister picked up on the second ring. "Derek." A slight pause. "Did Stiles pester you into calling?"

"No," Derek answered, frowning. That was the first thing she asked?

"Shit. Who's dead?"

"No one." Derek paused and then added, more honestly, "Well no one you know. Cora, what-"

"We just talked a couple days ago and that was because _I_ called _you_. You are demonstrably bad about keeping in touch. So for you to call me voluntarily so soon, it's either because someone pestered you into doing it, i.e. Stiles, or because the shit has hit the fan and you need my help with something."

Derek wanted to argue the point, but since that was exactly the reason he had called, he knew he really didn't have a leg to stand on. "I would've called anyway," he finally muttered sullenly.

"Eventually," Cora allowed. "Maybe. I'll give you that you would have thought about it at least, but it probably would've taken someone prodding you to get you to actually pick up the phone. It's okay. I've accepted the fact that you suck at communication and most of the burden of keeping in touch is going to fall on me. So what's happening in Beacon Hills that is killing people I don't know?"

"Person," Derek corrected. "Singular. Although it would've been two if we hadn't stopped Stiles' dad from shooting himself." 

He would've continued, but was cut off by his sister's strangled cry of, " _What?_ " and belatedly remembered that she had met the sheriff and liked him. It had been the sheriff and Stiles that had got her to the hospital when she first collapsed from the mistletoe poisoning that Jennifer had inflicted. The man had obviously left an impression on her.

"He's fine," Derek told her quickly and okay, yeah, maybe he really did suck at communicating. "Let me start at the beginning."

He gave her a summary of yesterday's events, and the visit to Peter's for information. "The story didn't ring any bells for me, but...?"

"Sorry," Cora told him, sounding actually regretful. "I was never much for story time with Uncle Peter as a kid, you know that. I could ask around here though, see if someone has heard the legend?"

Derek smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that. And maybe see if they will let you check their library and see if it's written down anywhere."

Cora made a snorting sound. "How come your Pack stumbles across something weird and life threatening and I'm the one who gets the homework? You're lucky I have enough of a vested interest in you staying in one piece that I'm willing to do actual _research_." The last word sounded like she'd put as much distaste as she could into it.

"Thanks Cora," Derek said, as heartfelt as he could make it. Even though she'd been back in his life for over half a year now, it still sometimes felt overwhelming to have his little sister _there_ , never mind being able to lean on her when he needed it as much as the reverse, even when they were physically in different parts of the country. He was never going to take her presence for granted and he was pretty sure she felt the same way.

"So aside from the whole deadly wooden coins, how is everything going?" Cora asked. "With you and the Pack?"

"Good," Derek replied, surprising himself a little by how much he meant that. "Really... good. It feels... right. Even with everything that happened last night and knowing if our track record holds true, it's going to get worse before it gets better. I.... I fit here. I haven't fit anywhere since... well, a very long time."

"I'm glad, Derek," Cora said softly and Derek could hear the smile in her voice. 

"Stiles called me the Guardian," Derek blurted. "To the Pack."

"Did he now?" Cora said, her tone caught between sly and amused.

"It's stupid," he said. "I know that's not an actual title or position in a pack, but when he called me that, it kind of felt like it was. Like I was. That. Pack Guardian."

Cora was silent for a moment and Derek could practically picture her thoughtful expression. "Stiles is Scott's Emissary, isn't he." It wasn't actually a question.

Derek answered it anyway. "Yes."

"Emissaries have a habit of seeing things differently, more clearly, than others do," Cora reminded him. "They need to, to work as a go between for the Pack and the outside world. And Stiles has always seemed to be a kid who sees things that others miss."

"That kid is the same age as you," Derek pointed out.

He could almost hear Cora roll her eyes. "That's what you take away from what I just said?"

"You think Stiles sees something in me that no one else does."

"I think Stiles put a name to something that everyone who knows you sees in you," Cora said.

Derek blinked. "What?"

"Oh please. You already all but said you felt like the name fit you. You're at your best when you're protecting people, Derek. Speaking as your little sister, I can safely say you always have been. Don't you think that's something that people were going to notice?"

It was true that Derek had always felt the most clear of purpose, the most settled in his own skin when he was looking at something as a way of protecting someone, even if he didn't succeed or went about it the wrong way. He just hadn't realized that was something that other people had seen in him as well.

"I've blown your mind, haven't I?" Cora asked in smug amusement that was so very much his little sister. 

"Maybe just a little," he grudgingly admitted. 

"Let me say one more thing that will probably blow it even more and then I'll let you go and try to recover. Once upon a time, there had to be the first Emissary. Just because Pack Guardian has never been an actual title before doesn't mean it can't be one _now_. It just means you're the first."

*****

The fifth time Stiles died in an embarrassingly newbie way, Scott paused the game and turned to look at him. "Okay, spill, dude. You never play this badly. What's wrong?"

Stiles resisted the urge to bury his face in the couch cushions. "Sorry," he said, sprawling back against the armrest instead. "I guess my head's not really in the game."

"Want to talk about it?" Scott asked, giving him the ' _I'm your best friend and I'm here to listen_ ' expression. The one that was responsible more than anything else on the planet for Stiles talking before he was sure he wanted to, and that was before the added undertone of ' _I'm your Alpha and I want to help_ ' that it now carried.

Faced with that, Stiles figured it was unsurprising that he caved. "I just can't stop thinking about it," he admitted. "What Deaton said about me having more magic power than we originally thought."

Scott nodded, like he had expected that. Stiles wouldn't be surprised if he had; sometimes he thought Scott knew him better than he knew himself. "Does that bother you?"

"I don't know," Stiles said, looking down at the controller in his hands. "It _shouldn't_. Finding out maybe I have some more juice should be cool, right? Means maybe I won't be the weak link anymore, right? That's a good thing."

" _Stiles_ ," Scott said, so emphatic that Stiles found himself looking up and meeting the earnest gaze of his best friend in spite of himself. "You're not the weak link. You've never been the weak link."

Stiles couldn't help but smile at that. "Thanks for the support, buddy, but compared to you and the others, pretty sure I am. I mean, defensive sarcasm doesn't really stack up to claws and fangs, banshee screaming or badass hunting skills that I'm pretty sure are genetic. It's fine, Scott. I've made my peace with that fact."

But Scott didn't seem willing to let this particular argument go. "It's not fine. Do you want me to list all the times something you said or did saved me? Saved the others? Because I will if I have to. You're not a weak link, Stiles. You're.... you're my Emissary. You think the True Alpha would have a weak link for his Emissary?"

"Scott-"

"I'm telling you, no, he wouldn't. The Emissary of the True Alpha would be one of the strongest links. That's you, Stiles. You're just going to have to accept that."

Stiles would be lying if he said that the vehemence with which Scott was pressing the point didn't warm him in some way, but still. It was more than a little embarrassing that Scott thought he needed to bolster Stiles' self esteem that much. "You're going to make me regret ever bringing up the emissary thing, aren't you?" He held up a hand before Scott could start up again. "Thank you, Scott, for the pep talk, my self worth is feeling very elevated, I've seen the light and won't refer to myself as the weak link for at least a month, but that wasn't actually what was bothering me."

Scott blinked at him, obviously running over their conversation in his mind, then nodding seriously. "Right. You're bothered by the thought you might have more magic spark than you originally thought."

He hadn't actually come out and said that, but he supposed it had been heavily implied. And it was true. Stiles nodded and then let his head fall back against the couch armrest so he was staring up at the ceiling. "I really kinda am. Which is stupid. I should be stoked that I might be the Beacon Hills equivalent of Merlin or something, shouldn't I?"

"Does that make me Arthur?" Scott wondered.

There was an actual resemblance there, Stiles thought, but he wasn't about to tell Scott that. "Have you been pulling swords out of stones without telling me?" he said instead.

"I pulled a nail out of my Mom's car's tire last week," Scott offered.

"Pretty sure that isn't equivalent, so you're probably safe from being anointed the once and future king of Beacon Hills."

"That's a relief because I'd look really stupid in a crown," Scott said in as serious a tone as he could manage. Stiles looked up and met his gaze. They managed to hold it for about five seconds before they both burst out laughing.

When they finally calmed down again, Stiles felt lighter, though the problem still existed and he wasn't sure how to voice it.

Scott nudged his shoulder with his own. "You'd make a kickass Merlin," he said, and suddenly the words were there.

"But I don't want to be a kickass Merlin," he said, flailing a little as he shifted on the couch to face Scott, words suddenly coming so fast they were almost tripping over each other. "I want to be a kickass _Stiles_. I like who I am -- the human who hangs with wolves, who's all mouth, mostly brain and very little brawn. I don't want to change, even if it means I get to be a badass wizard like Merlin. I... I like being able to look into the mirror and know that who's looking back is someone my mom, if she could see me, would recognize as her son." He shut his mouth with a snap and barely resisted bringing a hand up to cover it. 

He hadn't known that was what he was going to say until the words were tumbling out. It was true, but it was the kind of thing Stiles usually hid even from himself. Most things that touched on his mother were. 

And if anyone knew that, it was Scott. Stiles had watched his eyes widen in surprise when he'd spoke, though it was a surprise that Scott was quick to suppress. He didn't speak right away, just watched Stiles with a gaze that would've seemed inappropriately assessing on anyone else. On Scott it just seemed concerned.

The silence stretched almost to the point that, despite being worried about what else potentially uncomfortable might tumble out of his mouth, Stiles was ready to start babbling again just to break it, but Scott finally spoke before he could.

"Do you think I'm different?" he asked.

Stiles frowned and shook his head, not understanding. "What?"

"Since I got bit, do you think I'm different? I mean, obviously there's things that are different, but. You've known me since we were four, Stiles. Did becoming a werewolf change me enough that you can't recognize me?"

"Of course not!" Stiles replied. "Dude, if anything, you're even more obviously Scott than you used to be, if that makes any sense." It made perfect sense to him -- all the things that Scott had been through as a werewolf somehow just made the goodness and kindness and morality that was the very essence of Scott McCall shine through all the brighter. Stiles also wasn't stupid. He knew exactly why Scott was asking him this. "But I'm not you, Scott."

"No, you're Stiles," Scott said earnestly. "Look, from what I understand, the kind of magic that Deaton's been talking about is something that's innate. You either have it or you don't, right?"

"Right," Stiles confirmed warily.

"So if you've got it, it means you've always had it, doesn't it? You haven't changed at all. The Stiles I've always known, the Stiles your mom knew, has always had that spark. You just know about it now."

That... actually made a lot of sense. Stiles felt the knot in his stomach begin to unwind. "You know, sometimes you're smarter than you look," he said.

"Thanks!" Scott replied, then frowned. "I think."

"It was a compliment, really," Stiles told him. He paused. "You really think I'd make a kickass Merlin?"

Scott nodded emphatically. "You totally would. But you make an even more kickass Stiles."

Sometimes, especially when it counted, Scott always seemed to find the exact right words Stiles needed to hear. Just one of the many reasons why they were best friends. "Dude, that may just be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

Scott grinned at him and Stiles let the moment stretch before he added, "Doesn't mean I'm not going to thrash you now that my head's back in the game," snatching up his controller and unpausing the game before Scott had time to react.

Hey, when you were playing someone with werewolf reflexes, you had to take every advantage you could get.

*****

For the second afternoon in a row, Derek headed over to Stiles' house for a Pack Meeting.

He tried to figure out what he would call how that made him feel, and the word he came up with was _content_. Even with this potential magic threat hanging over them, doing anything that involved him being part of a pack -- and this pack in particular -- settled something in him that had been off balance for a very long time. 

And it was more than just having a place again. It was having this place, here, with these people. A place that apparently now came with a title.

 _Pack Guardian_.

He'd been thinking about it ever since he got off the phone with Cora and decided she was right. Just because this wasn't a title he'd heard of before didn't mean it couldn't be one now, one that he could embrace. It felt _right_. 

Not that he would ever had presumed to start calling himself that on his own, but having it bestowed on him by the Pack Emissary, by _Stiles_ , was different. Derek wasn't sure if he believed in fate, or destiny or any of that, but Stiles made him wonder.

Or maybe Stiles was just that good at reading people -- reading Derek -- as he seemed to be. In the past that idea would've made Derek nervous, afraid even, that someone was able to see through him so easily. But now, it made him feel... content. Safe even, not physically per se, but emotionally, which was something Derek hadn't felt since before the Fire.

It was Pack, yes, having that again definitely played a big part, but it was more than that. It was the fact that there was someone -- Stiles -- that seemed equally willing and capable of figuring out what Derek needed and then making sure he got it, even if he had to bully him into taking it. He was fairly sure that Derek wasn't unique in that, that Stiles did the same for the rest of the Pack, for anyone he cared for actually.

It was part of what a good Emissary needed to do, the part that kept some, perhaps even most, who filled that role maintaining distance, to be able to see and act clearly without their own emotions getting in the way. Stiles seemed to be the opposite, at his best when there was some kind of emotional connection, whatever impartiality lost more than made up for by the added sheer determination Stiles had to protect those he cared about. That he did it all without training, seeming guided by some innate instinct made it all the more remarkable.

He was, simply put, born to be an Emissary the same way Scott was born to be an Alpha, both of them with their entire being and character a perfect fit for the roles. That they were best friends long before either of them even dreamed werewolves existed was what had Derek maybe starting to believe in fate.

A True Emissary was just as rare as a True Alpha; to find either was the stuff of legends. To find both together... 

Those were his thoughts when he knocked on the front door, heard a squawk from inside, then Stiles voice shaking with laughter as he called out for Derek to come in.

He found the True Alpha and the True Emissary on the floor in the living room. Wrestling.

"Derek!" Stiles called out, raising his head awkwardly to look at him. It was awkward because he was pinned to the floor, Scott sitting on top of him. "Just the wolf I wanted to see! You can be my reinfor-" he broke off into a fit of giggles as Scott dug his fingers into Stiles' sides.

Derek revised his earlier description. Not wrestling. _Tickle fight._

"Don't you dare!" Scott told him. "This is between Stiles and me. He doesn't need any reinforcements."

"Liar!" Stiles yelled, squirming around and almost getting free before Scott pinned him again. "Also, cheater! You're using your wolfy strength against the poor defenceless human! That's totally cheating."

"Poor defenceless human, my ass. You kneed me in the crotch!"

"It was an accident!" Stiles insisted, all wide eyed sincerity. Which on Stiles wasn't really a look that worked. "Your crotch got in my way -- I was just trying to reach across you-"

"To steal my peanut butter cup!" Scott interrupted indignantly.

"Are you calling me a thief?" Stiles looked comically outraged for a second, then his expression morphed into a grin. "Yeah, okay that's fair. I was totally trying to steal your peanut butter cup. Because it was the last one. Scott, you're my Alpha and my brother and I love you man, but you've known me long enough to know that all falls to the side when Reese's is on the line."

Thus was Derek vividly reminded that True Alpha and Emissary though they may, Scott and Stiles were also still teenagers and therefore prone to acting like idiots a great deal of the time. He waited to feel the wave of annoyance that he used to always feel when having to deal with these sort of antics, but it never came.

Instead it only made him feel... fondly exasperated? Also content in some strange way, that his packmates were at ease enough to act like idiots in his presence. 

Still, there was no need to let on how he really felt; Scott and Stiles really didn't need any encouragement to engage in these sort of idiotic antics. So Derek crossed his arms over his chest and schooled his expression into what he hoped was halfway between a glare and polite curiosity. "Should I leave and come back later?" he asked in his driest tone.

"No," Scott said, eyes wide, then he was scrambling off Stiles and climbing to his feet. "Sorry," he apologized. "Stiles and I sometimes get carried away with the stupid. We didn't meant to make you-"

"Dude, relax," Stiles interrupted. He reached out and took the hand that Scott held out to him, letting the other teen pull him to his feet. "It's not like Derek doesn't know. He has met us before, remember?"

Derek nodded when Scott still looked a little worried. "I've met you."

"See?" Stiles flopped back down in the middle of the couch. "Come on in, Derek and take a load off. Mi sofa es su sofa."

Derek rolled his eyes a little, but crossed the room and took the seat that Stiles had so grandly gestured to.

"How did things go with Peter?" Scott asked as he sat down on the other side of Stiles. 

"Okay. He said he thought the disc sounded like something he heard in a story my great-grandfather used to tell him."

Stiles' eyes lit up at that. "Werewolf fairy tales?"

Derek gave a half shrug. "Bedtime stories at least. Mom used to tell them to us when we were young. Peter too, though his usually weren't the kind you wanted to hear just before bed."

"That sounds like the Peter we all know and want to stab," Stiles said.

Derek couldn't really argue with that sentiment given the number of times he'd imagined doing something similar to his uncle. And that's not even counting the time when he'd actually killed him. So he ignored the comment and continued, "I don't remember hearing this particular story before so I called Cora to see if she can check her pack's library for a copy."

Stiles' eyes went wide at that. "I am trying really hard right now not to be jealous. But knowing that there are entire libraries out there filled with werewolf facts, owned by werewolves and so, y'know, less likely to contain Twilight or Hollywood inspired made up facts isn't making it easy."

"Maybe we can negotiate for you to go visit one some day," Scott offered. He glanced at Derek. "If that's something you think they'd allow?"

"I don't know," Derek said honestly. Alliances with other packs were complicated things and even when they exist, things like free access to a pack library often weren't included. He watched Stiles wilt a little at that and found himself adding, "It's something we can work toward. And in the meantime, I can just ask Cora to look up anything we need her to."

"Not sure if you want to offer her services that freely," Stiles said with a smirk, back to his former exuberance at the offer of at least library by proxy privileges. "Because if you give me five minutes, I could present you with a list as long as your forearm of things I'd love to research the werewolf perspective on."

Having seen Stiles' Wall of Research, Derek didn't doubt that for a second. "Let's get the current crisis dealt with and then I'll see what I can talk her into."

"Deaton thinks it probably has already been dealt with," Scott said. "When Stiles destroyed the disc last night."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed. "He thinks that everything was more accident than attack. That the disc had just been out there drained of power until we juiced up the Nemeton and then it got reactivated. And once I set it on fire, that was it. So no new Big Bad to deal with, just a weapon left over from a past Big Bad that got dealt with before we started needing to use phrases like Big Bad in real life."

It.... sounded plausible, Derek admitted. But still... "You think we'd get that lucky?"

"It's possible," Stiles said, but Derek could tell from his scent and his heartbeat that he didn't really believe that. 

"We have to get lucky eventually, right?" Scott put in.

"I'm trying very hard not to make a still a virgin joke here," Stiles quipped then sighed. "But yeah, I guess we have to at least give it a chance to be that easy. Not that in the long run, it couldn't end up being even worse news than a new Big Bad would be. Because if the Nemeton is randomly charging up old magic items, it's pretty much the equivalent of finding out that the town's built on an old mine field. One wrong step and boom!" He flung his hands outwards imitating an explosion and almost hitting both Scott and Derek in the face. "Some poor innocent four year old's missing a leg."

While Derek was trying to get that image out of his head, Scott just looked stubborn. "Then we learn how to become the supernatural equivalent of bomb disposal."

Stiles cocked his head to the side and regarded his best friend. "Just like that?"

Scott shrugged. "It probably won't be simple, but we'll figure it out if we need to. We always do, right?"

"Yeah," Stiles admitted, with a drawn out sigh. "So far."

"But first," Scott said, throwing an arm around Stiles' shoulders, "we give it the chance to be easy. Okay?"

Stiles sighed again, but nodded. "Okay."

Scott looked over at Derek. "Okay Derek?"

Even though life experience had taught Derek that _nothing was ever easy_ , he echoed Stiles' sigh and nod. 

It probably wouldn't hurt to at least give it the chance, as long as they kept their guard up just in case. Derek traded a look with Stiles that led him to believe they were both thinking the same thing and it made him relax a little.

Scott glanced up at the clock that hung on the wall. "The others should be getting here soon. With everything that happened last night, we didn't get to do the pack dinner I thought we would. So maybe...?"

Stiles grinned and jumped to his feet. "I'll phone in the order. We getting the usual?"

"Yeah. And..." Scott glanced over at Derek. "What do you like on your pizza, dude?"

"Meat lover's," Derek replied and Stiles snorted.

"Figures," he said. "The should just change the name of that to werewolf chow. I'll add an extra one to the order. Be right back."

Scott and Derek watched Stiles disappear into the kitchen to call in their order. A not really all that awkward silence fell after Stiles had left the room until Scott stirred and said, "So Stiles told me you called him the Pack Emissary."

"He is," Derek replied instantly, then a little more hesitantly since he still wasn't completely certain how Scott would react in every situation and he _was_ Derek's Alpha now, "That doesn't bother you, does it?"

"Of course not," Scott said, shaking his head. "I told him I already knew that since it wasn't actually a surprise to hear Stiles say it. I know what Stiles does for me, for the Pack." He shrugged. "I just never put that name to it."

"That's not surprising," Derek told him. "It's not like you've had many examples of what a good Emissary looks like."

"Except Stiles," Scott said, shooting a fond look in the direction of the kitchen. They could hear Stiles' voice as he rambled off a long list of pizzas and various sides.

"Except Stiles," Derek agreed. "He's a natural at it," he added, remembering what he'd been thinking earlier about it. "Just like you are at being an Alpha."

That got him a surprised look and a slow wide grin from Scott. "I'm going to take that as a compliment. Thanks."

Thinking about that had Derek thinking also about the whole title bestowed on him thing and he decided to test something out. "Scott, if you had to describe what you see me being to the Pack what would you say?"

Scott didn't answer right away, taking a moment to look at Derek consideringly. "Strong," he finally said. "Like any one of us could put our backs up against you and you'd hold us up. I know you'd do whatever you needed to to protect the Pack. You're kinda like our-"

"Guardian," Stiles finished for him as he came back into the room and flopped back down between them on the sofa. He nudged Derek's shoulder with his own. "Told ya so."

"He's right," Scott said. "If I had to pick one word, Guardian fits you pretty well."

Derek felt an added warmth of pleasure bloom in his chest hearing that from his Alpha. "It's still not an actual title," he said as grumpily as he could to prevent letting on how completely sappy he was feeling.

Stiles shrugged. "Stiles isn't an actual name. And yet. It's a title if we say it's a title and treat it like one. Which we do and we are so you better just get used to it."

"Why are you being so insistent about this?" Derek asked. It wasn't that he didn't like it. It just still felt... almost too right. Too good. Experience had taught him it wasn't a feeling he should trust although all his instincts were screaming that this time he could.

"I don't know," Stiles answered, more serious than he had been a minute ago. "It just feels important somehow. Which is... weird. I know. But there it is."

"Not really any weirder than other things you've been insistent about," Scott said. "You've always been really good at figuring people out."

"Not always," Stiles argued. "I mean, take Derek here even. Do you remember how many times I tried to convince you we should kill him, or at the least let him die?" He turned his head to look at Derek. "I'm actually kind of embarrassed about it now, considering. But then again, you kept shoving me into things and threatening to rip my throat out with your teeth so maybe I had some reason to be unreasonable."

It was true that their relationship did not get off to the best of starts, but there was one thing that stood out for Derek. "You didn't though," he said. "Try to kill me or let me die. Just the opposite. You had your chance at least a couple of times and you actually went out of your way to save me." He gave a half shrug when both Scott and Stiles turned to stare at him. "Actions speak louder than words."

Stiles nodded slowly. "Yeah, they do. And I can remember more than a few times you put yourself between one of us and danger -- no matter what that ended up doing to you. So I think it's safe to say Guardian fit back then too, even if I was too stupid to see it."

Scott's phone rang then. "It's Lydia," he said, checking the call display and then answering it. "Lydia?"

"Scott, it's happening again." Derek tensed at the sound of her voice through the phone, not only because of her words or the urgency in her tone, but because of the otherworldly in the timbre of it. _Banshee_ , he remembered. 

He and Scott exchanged worried glances and Stiles frowned, looking back and forth between them, unable to hear Lydia's side of the conversation with his normal human hearing. "That's not a good look. What's wrong?"

"What's happening?" Scott asked Lydia, holding up a hand to forestall questions from Stiles for the moment.

"Like with that girl. I think. All I know for sure -- turn left here -- is that someone is going to die and it feels a little like the feeling I got looking at that disc."

 _So much for things being easy,_ Derek thought as Scott asked, "Where are you?"

"Just turned onto Old Mill Road heading out of town, but I'm still.... zeroing in," Lydia replied. "My phone's GPS is on; Stiles knows how to track it." She paused and when she continued her voice was more shaky. "I- I don't think it's happened yet, but... You need to get out here fast."

"Right," Scott said. "We're leaving right now." He disconnected the call and stood up. Derek immediately followed suit. Stiles looked exasperatedly between the two before sighing and getting to his feet as well. 

"Is anyone going to fill in the guy without werewolf hearing on where we're leaving for?" Stiles asked.

"Lydia's banshee sense is tingling," Scott told him. "She says it feels like the disc."

Stiles blew his breath out and rolled his eyes. "Of course it does. I'll save the 'I told you so's for later."

"Appreciate that. Can you -- Lydia said you can track her phone? She hasn't pinpointed exactly where yet, but she didn't think we should wait-"

"Got it covered, buddy," Stiles said, immediately pulling out his phone as the three of them made their way through the house to the door. He paused to scoop up the keys to his jeep. He paused and looked back and forth between Scott and Derek before holding the keys out to Derek. "I need to navigate and Scott's not allowed to drive the jeep since he almost crashed it-"

"Dude, that was over a year ago! I wasn't even a werewolf then!"

"-so do you think you could take the wheel?" Stiles finished, ignoring Scott's protest.

"Sure," Derek said, not bothering to hide his surprise at this show of trust even as he reached out for the keys. He knew how protective of the jeep Stiles was.

"I saw what kind of shape you kept the camaro in," Stiles said, answering the unspoken question as they all headed out of the house. "You'll take appropriate care with Roscoe."

He hadn't though known that Stiles had actually named the thing. "Roscoe?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows.

"Shut up. It's a perfectly good name for a jeep." He did something with his phone and then smiled in triumph. "Got her! When we get going, you can head for-"

"Old Mill Road, heading out of town," Derek finished for him as he climbed behind the wheel of the jeep. He and Stiles were basically the same height so he didn't have to adjust anything.

Stiles paused in the act of climbing in the front passenger seat -- after letting Scott in the back -- to stare at him. "Of course, Lydia told Scott where she was currently and you eavesdropped with the freaky werewolf hearing."

Derek shrugged in answer, starting the jeep up and pulling it smoothly out onto the road.

"Sometimes I wish I had freaky werewolf hearing," Stiles all but pouted. 

"You'd be a menace with werewolf senses," Derek told him bluntly.

"I wouldn't be a menace," Stiles protested, "I'd be awesome! Scott, back me up here."

"You kinda would be a menace," Scott said almost apologetically. "But you'd be an awesome menace."

That actually made Stiles pause for a moment. "I'm not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult," he finally admitted.

"It was a compliment, dude, totally," Scott told him.

"You might want to work on making the complimenting a little less vague then, Scotty boy."

Derek listened to the two of them banter back and forth as he drove. It was... exactly the same kind of thing he'd heard them do since he first met them. The difference being that it used to irritate the hell out of him to the point he was almost willing to use violence to shut them up. (And he had threatened to do so more than once.)

Now, he didn't find it annoying at all. In fact, it was actually kind of comforting in a way. He wasn't sure if it was because they were all part of the same pack now, or because he himself was no longer quite so much a walking raw nerve made up of grief, fear and anger, or even just that he knew them well enough now to know that when they did go silent and serious that was when things were about to get fucked up. Most likely it was a little of all three. It didn't really matter though. He was just happy that he had adjusted enough that they no longer drove him to distraction.

At least not with their banter.

As much as he was shooting one liners back and forth with Scott the entire drive, Stiles kept most of his attention on his phone and whatever tracking program he was using to find Lydia. "They've stopped," he finally said, interrupting Scott mid-sentence, just as Derek was turning onto Old Mill Road.

"How far?" Derek asked, glancing away from the road for a brief moment to look at Stiles. 

"Not very." Stiles was frowning down at his phone as if trying to figure something out. "About two miles further down the road, it looks like they turned off, but there's not an actual road on the map. So it's gotta be some kind of driveway or something..."

Derek mentally reviewed what he knew of the area and felt a cold shiver go down his spine when he realized what turn off they had to have taken. "Oh," he said softly, the word sounding like it had been punched out of him.

He was acutely aware that that got him the full attention of both of the jeep's other occupants. "Derek?" Scott asked softly as if trying not to spook him.

"There is a turn off," Derek said, keeping his voice as unemotional as possible. "Not really a road, it's more of an oversized trail. It leads up to a clearing on top of a cliff overlooking the city." He could have left it there, he supposed, with just the bare facts they needed to know given. But Scott and Stiles were both looking at him worriedly and they were probably just going to keep doing so unless he told them what had him so shaken up. Of course, once they knew they were probably going to continue to look at him worriedly, but at least they would know. Which, somehow, seemed marginally better.

So he steeled himself and tried to say the words as unemotionally as possible. "Kate used to bring me up there when we were... you know. Before."

And that killed any and all conversation dead just as Derek knew it would. He clenched his jaw, wanting to break the silence but floundering with what to say. _It's okay_ was out because it wasn't, not by a long shot. Thoughts about Kate and especially about Kate and him together were never going to be okay. And he most certainly didn't want to talk any more about it -- just saying what he had had him at pretty much his limit of coping. He desperately wanted the subject changed, but couldn't come up with a way of doing so except by actually asking that they do so and that would just make things even more awkward.

It was just... words were never his weapon of choice and it never showed more to himself than at times like this.

Luckily, words were Stiles' weapon of choice and he was not afraid to use them. "Right. Nice to know that whatever's happening up there now won't ruin a good spot for making out. Y'know, if and when I ever get a chance to need one. Potential make out spot already ruled out for the creepy. I'll cross it off the list. "

Derek caught Scott glancing in his direction in alarm, obviously worried about his reaction to Stiles... being Stiles. But surprisingly, Derek actually felt himself relaxing a little at what Stiles said. It was vaguely offensive, yeah, but no more than Stiles usually got about, well, everything. And Derek found he was far more willing to take vaguely offensive black humor over being treated with kid gloves, and having everyone tiptoe around him and his horror of a past. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised that Stiles got that on an almost instinctive level.

It was enough to let Derek find his voice again. "You actually keep a list of potential make out spots?" he asked, voice only a little off. He was proud of himself for that.

"I keep all sorts of lists," Stiles said with a shrug, going along easily enough. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I like to be prepared. Granted, places to hide the bodies has so far seemed more useful than make out spots -- and isn't that a sad commentary on our lives this past year -- but I live in hope." He gestured dramatically at himself. "I mean, someone's gotta want to make out with all this eventually right?" Before Derek or Scott could answer he sat up straighter, staring at his phone and said, "Looks like they left the road here."

Right where the turnoff Derek remembered was. It wasn't actually really visible from the road, but Derek turned and skillfully manoeuvred the jeep between the two stands of trees that blocked the track from view, ignoring the heightened heartbeats from both the two other occupants and the strangled _Meep!_ sound that came from Stiles.

Once past the dense foliage that covered the trail's entrance, they could see that the track, while overgrown with disuse, bore signs of several vehicles having used it very recently.

"Yeah, this is the way they came," Stiles said, leaning forward, eyes now alternating between staring at his phone and the way ahead.

"How much farther?" Scott asked, leaning forward as well until he was halfway in the front seat, eyes fixed on the windshield. 

Derek opened up his mouth to say it couldn't be much farther because they were almost at the end of the track when Stiles said, "We're there."

The jeep cleared the last curve, letting them all see the tableau laid out in front of them. To the left of them was Allison's car, parked at an angle with both the driver and passenger doors wide open. Lydia and Allison were farther away, about ten feet from the second vehicle in the clearing -- a bright blue Outback whose engine was still running and was far to close to the cliff's edge for comfort. The driver was a woman who appeared to be in her thirties who smelled of fear, desperation and stress, along with a certain bitter, oily underscent that Derek had first smelled the night before coming from the sheriff as he contemplated his gun.

That wasn't the worst part. 

The worst part was that there was a young boy strapped into the back seat.

Beside him, he could hear Stiles' swift intake of breath and his heart rate speed up significantly at the same time that Scott let out a low growl from the backseat. A glance in the rear view mirror showed Scott struggling not to change. 

Stiles reached out and clamped a hand tightly on Derek's arm as his breathing and heart rate continued to speed up and Derek could tell he was trying to fight off a panic attack like what had happened the day before. "It's definitely something like the disc," Stiles said through gritted teeth, with his eyes scrunched shut.

Touch seemed to have helped yesterday, so Derek place his hand on the hand Stiles had a death grip on Derek's arm with. Stiles instantly turned his hand over to lace their fingers together, clinging tight enough to leave bruises if Derek hadn't been a werewolf. It did seem to help though as Stiles was actually able to hold his breath for a couple of seconds before letting it out shakily. He repeated the action a few more times until Derek could hear his heart finally starting to slow down.

"Okay?" he asked when he was sure the worst was past.

Stiles nodded, looking pale and shaky, but in control. "Or reasonable facsimile thereof." He still hadn't let go of Derek's hand though.

The scent of blood hit Derek's nose and he quickly turned to see Scott digging his claws into his own palms deep enough to send blood running down his arms. The change was fading though and he met Derek's gaze with eyes that were completely human. 

"Pain makes you human," Scott said wryly, holding up one hand as he parroted back one of the earliest things Derek had every told him. It was gratifying somehow to know that even back then when Scott had made it clear he had wanted nothing to do with Derek that he had at least been listening.

Stiles did a double take when he saw the blood. "Dude, you so need to find a better solution," he said, reaching under the passenger seat and pulling out a towel. "I get enough blood stains on the seats from various life threatening injuries, I don't need you adding self inflicted blood stains to the mix." He tossed the towel at Scott. "Clean up before I make you promise to detail the jeep as an apology."

That was patently unfair to Scott and Derek would have said something if he hadn't noticed that the panic and fear scent had faded from both of his packmates during Stiles' rant. It was obviously enough normality to let them push back the Nemeton-like influence that had tried to overwhelm them. 

So much so that when Stiles hopped out of the jeep without waiting for them and headed over to join Allison and Lydia, none of his earlier panic showing in his scent or his demeanour. 

"Go," Scott told Derek when he hesitated to follow. "Stiles is right; I need to clean up. Going out there covered in blood would not be conducive to calming the situation down."

Derek nodded, getting out and walking over to join the others.

Allison was muttering something under her breath so low that even with a werewolf's hearing Derek could only pick out a few words -- he made out what sounded like "protect," "cannot" and "themselves" in French. But other than that she seemed to be holding it together as well as Stiles and Scott were. She gave him a weak smile when he came up beside her and touched her shoulder, instinctively trying to lend support to a packmate who needed it. "I'm okay," she told him quietly, and it did seem she was, at least as well as could be expected so Derek turned his attention more fully to Stiles and Lydia.

"-couldn't get any closer," Lydia was saying. "When we tried she threatened to drive off the cliff."

"Did she tell you her name?" Stiles asked.

Lydia shook her head. "Other than the threats she's been ignoring us. But Stiles, I feel... I can still hear- If we don't do something she's going to do it. She's going to drive right over the edge of the cliff and take her kid with her."

"That's not going to happen," Stiles told her, sounding one hundred per cent sure, even though Derek could hear the uncertainty in his heartbeat and smell it in his scent. If he hadn't been a werewolf though, Derek would have been convinced.

Scott by this time was jogging over to join them, having managed to get most of the blood off of himself though Derek could still smell it on him.

"We need to get the kid out of the car," Scott said, staring at the what they could see of him through the backseat window.

"Agreed," Stiles said, "but chances are if we go for him, that's just going to freak out the driver even more. If it's anything like what happened to my dad, the fact that he's in the car might be the only thing giving her the strength to fight. Messing with that might push her over the edge. Literally."

"You need a distraction," Allison stated. "She can't freak if she doesn't notice the boy is gone. And once he's out of harm's way, we have a few more options."

Derek looked at her; she didn't look like she was carrying any 'options', but Allison was a hunter born and trained. They wouldn't see any weapons -- non-lethal or otherwise -- unless she wanted them to.

Stiles was giving her a similar contemplative look, but finally shook his head. "I really don't want to know, do I?" He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. "Okay, distraction. That sounds like my gig. Lydia's our early warning system if things are about to go south, Allison can stand by with her unnamed and vaguely threatening options..."

"And Derek and I can try and get to the kid and get him out," Scott finished. He glanced over at Derek. "You okay with that?"

"Course he is," Stiles said, before Derek could answer. "Sneaking around without being seen until he wants to be is one of Derek's best creepy lurker skills."

Derek ignored him, knowing that was how Stiles dealt with nerves. "It's fine," he told Scott.

Scott turned to Stiles. "We'll move then once you've got her attention."

"Right," Stiles said, his scent spiking with anxiety and stress, although his expression stayed calm. He took a deep breath and seemed to steel himself. "Here goes nothing," he said and stepped towards the car.

*****

Stiles was doing his best to outwardly project a confidence that he definitely was not feeling. Yeah, sure he'd been in this position before -- twice if you count the time at Motel Death with Scott -- but those were different. With his dad and Scott, he knew them, he _needed_ them, and had poured out his heart in a way he couldn't do with a stranger. He didn't know what to say that would work when he didn't know the person he was talking to.

Still, he wasn't being asked to get the woman to break the compulsion completely. He was just supposed to distract her, keep her engaged enough that she didn't try anything until Scott and Derek could get her kid out of harm's way. Once that was done, they would be able to try more risky options to stop this before it became another tragedy.

So distraction. Distraction he could do. Distraction was one of the things he was best at, the verbal dodge and weave that kept people from seeing what was really important. He'd been good at it even before werewolves had entered his life to make it the complicated mess it was now. He could do this.

"Don't come any closer!" the woman yelled, stopping Stiles in his tracks. More than anything, she sounded terrified. Stiles could relate.

He immediately stopped in his tracks. "Okay," he said, trying to sound as non-threatening as he could. "I just want to talk anyway. I can do that from here. I'm Stiles, by the way. That's not my actual name, but that's what everybody calls me since trying to pronounce my real name is cruel and unusual punishment. Trust me on that. How about you? What's your name?"

He paused to let her answer, but when she didn't, he forged on, not letting the silence linger. Silence let the terror get bigger. "Don't want to answer? That's okay. Maybe I can guess, but if I get it right you have to promise to tell me. Because otherwise I'm going to feel like an idiot standing here listing off all the names I can think of. And then making up really atrocious ones because I've run out of ideas. Believe me it wouldn't be pret-"

"Gwen." If Stiles hadn't been listening for it, he would've missed it.

"Gwen," Stiles repeated with a nod. "Thank you, it would've taken me a while to guess that. Can I ask why you're out here, Gwen?"

"You mean what's a nice girl like me doing in a place like this?" she asked with a sound that was half sob and half laugh and Stiles found himself liking her. Anybody who could still make even a weak joke while dealing with a magical suicidal compulsion had some steel in them. 

"That wouldn't have been my first choice of words, but yeah, it essentially covers the gist of the question," he said. "Care to answer it?"

There was no reply and for a moment Stiles didn't think there was going to be, but then in the most broken voice Stiles had ever heard she said, "It's hopeless."

"My best friend felt that way once," he said, trying not to remember too closely the look on Scott's face at the time. "He was wrong though. There's always hope."

He couldn't see them, but he knew Scott and Derek had to be close to being in position by now.

Gwen shook her head. "You're too young to understand."

"Gwen, believe me, I've been through a hell of a lot for my tender age," Stiles said honestly. "You'd be surprised at what I can understand."

"You're not a parent."

"Well no, I'll grant you that. But I'm really good at putting myself in other people's places." Stiles paused. "This is about your kid?"

Gwen just started sobbing so hard Stiles could hardly make out her answer. "I- I'm going to lose him. My ex is going to take him away from me and I'll never see him again. I can't let that happen, I can't let my son go! He's better off with me. No matter what, he's better off with me."

Stiles was starting to get a grasp on her thought processes and he really wasn't liking the picture they were painting. Her kid being in the car wasn't just incidental, it was deliberate. They weren't just looking at a magically induced suicide. Gwen was planning on taking her son with her. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the back door on the passenger side slowly start to open; Scott and Derek finally making their move. Which meant that Stiles _really_ needed to keep Gwen's attention on him right now.

"I'm sure he is," he said, in his most placating and soothing tone of voice. "And I'm sure we can brainstorm a way to make sure he stays with you, and _gets to grow up_ with you."

Gwen shook her head. "No. This... this is the only way." And wasn't that the one thing Stiles didn't want to hear.

"It's not, Gwen, I promise," he told her quickly. "There's always another way."

"What do you know about it?" Gwen said, voice going shrill as she started to get more agitated. "You're just a kid yourself."

"I may be young, but I've seen a lot more than you'd ever believe," Stiles said. _Not that I could ever actually explain in a way that doesn't make me sound crazy._. "And I've got connections that might be able to help you? My dad's the sheriff and-"

That apparently had been the absolute wrong thing to say.

Gwen's eyes grew wide and panicked as she looked around wildly like she was expecting to see police officers pop up out of the bushes. Which there weren't, but she did spot Scott half in the car by now reaching for her son.

Before any of them could react to stop her, she let out a screech of anger and betrayal, put the car in gear and _floored_ it.

Stiles had a split second of panic that he was about to witness the car going over the edge with Gwen, her kid and _his best friend_ in it before he realized the car wasn't moving. Its engine was roaring but it wasn't moving at all.

It wasn't moving because _Derek_ had somehow got a hold of the back of the car and _lifted_ it so the tires weren't touching the ground. Stiles stared at the werewolf stopping the _speeding car_ with his _bare hands_ , the sight not quite computing.

Luckily while Stiles had been shocked into immobility, Allison had not. She dashed forward, aiming and shooting her stun gun through the car window as she ran, not stopping her forward momentum until she had leaned in the window and put the car in park.

It was all over in less than a minute. Stiles was still catching his breath as Derek put the car back down and Scott scrambled to get the kid out of the car.

"Holy fuck, that was way too close," he muttered, kind of wanting to sit down on the ground for a few minutes even though all he did was watch.

"Stiles," Allison called. By now she had the driver's door open and was leaning over an unconscious Gwen. "Come take a look."

Stiles joined her, standing slightly behind her and looking over her shoulder. He sucked in his breath when he saw what had caught her attention.

It was another disc, practically identical to the one that Stiles had destroyed the night before. The only difference that Stiles could see was that this one had a small hole at the top which had a chain threaded through it. Gwen was wearing it as a necklace.

"Fuck," Stiles muttered again. He could feel waves of Nemeton-y malevolence coming off the thing even from several feet away. No wonder Gwen had almost gone over the edge. Literally. 

They needed to get it away from her. They needed, as far as Stiles was concerned, to destroy the damned thing. Which meant someone was going to have to touch it. And that someone was probably going to be him.

Stiles had grabbed the disc the night before, but that one had been wrapped in silk, which had seemed to dampen its effects somewhat. He didn't have any with him which meant the best he could do was use his shirt and hope that flannel would provide at least some protection.

He pulled his sleeve down over his hand and took a deep breath. "You might want to take a step back," he said, glancing at Allison.

She looked from him to the disc and back again, then complied with a worried frown. Stiles could see out of the corner of his eye both Scott and Derek starting to head in his direction and knew this was going to get even more complicated if they figured out what he was about to do before he did it so he didn't give them that chance. He darted forward and closed his flannel covered hand around the disc and _yanked_ , hard enough to snap the cord it was attached to.

There was about five seconds of nothing happening and then...

It was like the Nemeton had walked up to him and slapped him in the face with its creepy, malevolent presence. Stiles felt something _move_ in his hand and he looked down to see that the disc was _sprouting_. Roots, vines, Stiles didn't know how to categorize them other than creepy ass woody tendrils that were were growing from the disc and wrapping around his hand and wrist. 

And were climbing steadily up his arm.

"Oh my god!" he yelped, shaking his hand and trying to drop the disc, but it was now holding onto _him_ instead of vice versa. The tendrils had reached the top of his shoulder now and still showed no sign of stopping.

"Uh, guys?" Stiles brought his other hand up in an effort to push the tendrils away, only to have them wrap around his other wrist, effectively binding him. "Little help?" he asked, voice cracking as the tendrils started to wrap around his throat. They instantly began to tighten, cutting off his airway.

Things got a little fuzzy after that. 

Stiles could distantly hear his friends' voices as he struggled to breathe, Lydia's voice louder and shriller than all of them. That was bad. Lydia's voice only got like that when someone was in mortal peril and the louder and shriller she got, the closer someone's death was. Stiles didn't want Lydia to scream for his death. 

The tendrils tightened even more, cutting off the last of his air and making Stiles seriously wonder if they were going to break his neck before he suffocated. Though if they were going to, they would have to hurry; his vision was already starting to tunnel down as he got near to passing out from lack of oxygen.

"Then _make him_!" he heard Lydia yell, the words loud and shrill enough to make it through the dimming of his senses. A second later, he felt a hand covering his, forcing his fingers to uncurl from around the disc, in spite of the tendrils trying to hold his fist close.

It wasn't going to do any good, Stiles wanted to say. The tendrils had far too good a hold on him even if he did manage to let the disc go, but then his hand was forced open and the disc _dropped_.

Instantly the tendrils disappeared and he could breathe again and all of his attention was focused on doing just that, drawing in huge gasping lungfuls of air even as he felt someone dragging him backwards. The dragging wasn't important. The only thing that was important right then was sweet, sweet oxygen and getting enough of it to not pass out.

"Thanks," he finally managed when the dark edges around his vision disappeared. He sounded winded, but to his surprise not hoarse like he had expected after having almost been strangled.

Scott was crouched in front of him -- they were all gathered around him, including a very wide eyed preschooler. Scott's eyes were almost as wide in concern. "Are you okay?"

Stiles nodded, rubbing at his throat which didn't feel as bruised as he thought it would. "What's a little strangling compared to some of the crap we've been through? I'm fine."

He didn't get the relieved expression from Scott that he expected. He glanced around. From any of them. "What?" he demanded. "You're all wearing your worried faces. What is it?"

It was Lydia who replied, voice careful. "Stiles, you weren't being strangled, at least not that we could see."

He froze. "So, you didn't see it when that thing sprouted into a plant version of a tentacle monster straight out of Japanese manga?"

Scott shook his head, eyes still wide. "All we saw was you kinda freaking out after picking up the disc and then you started choking."

"You wouldn't let go of the disc," Derek said, and Stiles felt the rumble of his voice, which made him realize that the warmth he was leaning back against was Derek. "I had to force your fingers open."

"I couldn't," Stiles explained. "There were tentacley tendrils wrapped around my hand. Except... they were apparently all in my head?" He couldn't decide if that was more or less disturbing than actual physical tentacles attacking him. "Everyone else was only driven to suicide. Why am I the one that gets the homicidal treatment?" he complained, letting his head fall back with a thud against Derek's shoulder. 

"You were going to destroy it," Allison pointed out.

"And you destroyed another one last night," Derek put in, and Stiles found something definitely comforting about feeling the rumble of Derek's voice against his back.

"So it was either vengeful or threatened," Stiles concluded. "Or both. Okay, makes sense. And I'm still going to destroy it. Right now." He struggled to climb to his feet, flailing a bit for balance until Derek stood up and pulled Stiles up with him. "Thanks."

Derek nodded, keeping one hand on Stiles' arm until Stiles proved he wasn't about to fall back over. "You're not touching that thing again," he said, half statement, half order.

Stiles turned his head to look him in the face. "Are you crazy? Of course I'm not. We all have seen how very much a bad idea touching it was -- and I saw more than you, so no. I won't be touching it." He took a step that still felt a little shaky towards his jeep. "I don't need to touch it to destroy it," he tossed over his shoulder as his steps got surer and he walked faster. 

When he got to the jeep, he rummaged around in emergency supplies in the back until he found the pack of matches he had stored there. He grabbed them and, as an after thought, also grabbed the small fire extinguisher he kept as well. 

Hurrying back to the others, he shoved the fire extinguisher at Allison, figuring she had the best aim if they needed to use it. "Just in case," he said. Then he headed over to wear the disc lay on the ground.

Derek followed, falling in by his side and glaring at the disc as if he expected it might jump up and attack them. 

"Be careful!" Scott called out and Stiles was sure that Scott would've been on his other side if he didn't have a little kid clinging to him.

"Relax, I've got this," he called back, although he was nowhere near as confident as he sounded.

"Yeah," Derek said, squeezing his shoulder. "You do."

It was actually kind of amazing how much that steadied him, but he'd think about the implications of that later. Right now, he took a moment to take several deep breaths and _focus_. Then he lit a match and tossed it at the disc, and thought _burn_.

For a second it didn't look like it was going to catch, and Stiles shoved his belief that it would at it even harder. Then with a soft woomph it did, flames shooting skyward tinged with the same sickly green as the one the night before. He could almost feel it struggling against the fire, but Stiles kept his will focused on nothing but the disc burning to ash. He felt the second he had won and the disc's power broke; he heard it too, the same silent scream of frustrated anger and hate echoing through his mind that he'd heard the night before. Like then, it sent him stumbling backwards, but this time Derek was there to catch and steady him.

Unlike last night, this time he wasn't the only one who heard it.

"What," Lydia demanded, looking at the now dying flames a little wild eyed, "the hell was _that_?"

"What was what?" Allison asked.

"That was the disc," Stiles said. "It kinda... screams when it burns up. The other one did the same thing."

Scott wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Ew."

"My thoughts exactly, buddy."

But Lydia was frowning, her head cocked to one side as if still listening to something. Or for something. "I'm not sure it was coming from the disc," she said slowly. "It felt..." Her gaze flicked up and caught Stiles'. "Didn't it sound more distant to you than that?"

Stiles thought about it before answering. "Maybe," he admitted. "But it's not like I have a lot of experience with things screaming only in my mind."

Lydia's mouth curled up into a sad half smile. "I do." The hazards of being a banshee.

Stiles blew out his breath, accepting that and her interpretation since she had more experience. "Okay. So if it wasn't the discs screaming, but something further away, then it was... what? Something that was connected to them, obviously. " A cold shiver ran down his spine. "Something that was controlling them. Great."

"It makes sense," Derek said. "And would explain why it attacked you so much more directly than it had anyone else. You'd already proven you could destroy it."

Which meant that whatever -- whoever -- they were dealing with was probably now gunning for Stiles specifically. " _Great_ ," he repeated with more feeling. "Can we go back a few hours when we thought we were just dealing with a random magic item accidentally getting charged up? Because as explanations go, that one was much less panic inducing."

"Sorry," Scott said wryly. "You were right about it never being that easy."

"I'm always right," Stiles shot back, then slumped a little. "I wouldn't have minded being wrong this one time though."

They all heard a groan coming from the direction of the car and turned to see that Gwen was starting to stir. 

"She was wearing that thing like it was some kind of lucky pendant," Allison pointed out. "If we can find out where she got it from-"

"It'll hopefully be a first step to tracking down our mysterious screamer," Stiles finished. "On it." He took a step in the direction of the car and immediately stumbled as a wave of dizziness made the ground seem to spin.

Derek caught him before he could fall. "Easy!"

"I'm okay," Stiles said quickly, though the spinning hadn't actually stopped. "Just give me a minute."

Scott was quickly at his other side. "Deaton said that using magic like that drains you," he said. "You need to rest."

"But-"

"He's right," Lydia put in. "You're as white as a sheet."

Scott glanced at Derek. "Can you take him home and keep an eye on him?"

Derek nodded. "Of course." Stiles felt Derek's grip tighten.

Before Stiles could protest again that he needed to question Gwen, Allison spoke up. "Lydia and I can find out what Gwen knows about the disc. We've got this."

"We've got this," Scott repeated in his earnest Scott way that Stiles had no defence against. "You were the muscle on this one, let us do the investigating for once, okay?"

Stiles sighed. "Okay," he capitulated. "But this isn't you alpha'ing me. I just... agree that it would probably be better if I sat down for a while. That's all."

Scott grinned. "That's because you're the smart one."

"Damn right." He glanced at Derek who was doing an admirable job of holding him steady while the world spun. "Home, Jeeves." 

Derek rolled his eyes, but obediently started them in the direction of the jeep. Stiles did his best to walk under his own power but was acutely aware of how much of his weight Derek was supporting as they stumbled along.

Sitting down once they reach the jeep and Derek's poured him into the passenger seat felt far too good considering the jeep's seats weren't exactly the most comfortable car seats in existence. It was a sign of exactly how much energy he'd burned through. 

As was the fact that he was asleep before Derek had even driven them out of the clearing.

*****

Derek kept all his senses trained on Stiles as he drove them back to the Stilinski house. The speed at which Stiles had lost consciousness had been more akin to passing out than falling asleep and would have worried Derek if everything he could sense wasn't insisting that Stiles was just in a deep -- if overly quickly attained -- sleep.

Stiles did stir when Derek pulled the jeep into the driveway, saving Derek the decision of whether to wake him or to carry him into the house still asleep.

Stiles yawned and stretched and blinked dazedly out the windshield. "Home?" he asked, a little muzzledly. It wasn't cute, Derek told himself firmly. Stiles yawned again. "Wow, I could've sworn I just closed my eyes for a second."

"You did," Derek told him. "You just kept them closed for a lot of seconds following that."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Very funny. The wolf is a laugh riot with the jokes." He opened the passenger door and gingerly climbed out. 

"You okay to walk on your own?" Derek asked, watching as Stiles cautiously let go of the door.

"Seem to be," he replied, taking a few hesitant steps towards the door. "Though probably only as far as the couch."

Derek quickly got out and followed, trying to keep close enough to catch Stiles if he stumbled again without looking like he was hovering. He didn't think he succeeded very well at the latter considering the amused look Stiles sent his way.

Stiles made it inside under his own power, though he all but fell on the sofa when he reached it, clearly having used up whatever reserves of strength his little power nap had rekindled. 

"You okay?" Derek asked, eyeing Stiles as he shifted on the sofa, obviously trying to make his sprawl look more deliberate and less puppet with its strings cut.

"Yeah," Stiles grumbled. "Just completely wiped. I don't get it. After I destroyed the disc last night I was maybe a little tired, but nothing like this. Why did it hit me so hard this time?"

"It is the second time you had to do that in less than 24 hours," Derek reminded him. "And this time it also attacked you directly too."

"Point," Stiles conceded. He frowned up at Derek. "I'm getting a kink in my neck looking up at you. Come on, sit." He patted the cushions next to him.

Derek rolled his eyes again, but let himself be convinced to sit down beside Stiles. Stiles then promptly listed to the side drunkenly until he was leaning against Derek's shoulder. Derek rolled his eyes, but didn't make any move to dislodge him. Part of him might have even found having Stiles' warmth pressed against his side kind of comforting.

Not that he was every going to admit that.

"So..." Stiles began around another huge yawn, "remember how I said I had no plans to become a druid? Well, still don't, but... I may have a little bit more magic ability than I originally thought."

"Yeah," Derek replied dryly, carefully holding back his smirk. "I got that."

Stiles rolled his head far enough that he could glare up at him. "Don't think I can't tell that you're laughing at me," he said. He raised a hand and poked him in the ribs once before letting it fall back into his lap. "I can read you like a book, Hale."

The truth wasn't actually far off from that, Derek admitted to himself. Derek wouldn't go that far, but Stiles did seem to get him more than anyone else in the Pack. "You're really good at figuring people out," Derek acknowledged. "Except yourself."

"Wow, that's deep. Like, almost fortune cookie deep," Stiles teased. Then after a few seconds though, he added more seriously, "You might be right though."

"You should work on that," Derek told him, meaning the words to be teasing, but finding them coming out as serious as Stiles' words had.

Stiles made a dismissive "Pfffttt" sound and waved his hand as if brushing the suggestion away. "I'm just the lowly human -- okay, granted a lowly human with some magic and an emissary calling, but still -- surrounded by werewolves, banshees and hunters. You guys are way more interesting to figure out."

Derek privately thought that Stiles was completely wrong about that, but Stiles was continuing before he could argue the point. "Like take you for example. Do you have any idea how freaking amazing you were out there? And I'm not just talking about saving me from being strangled to death by evil plant tentacles that were all in my mind -- which thank you for that by the way, much appreciated. But dude, you stopped that car from going over the cliff! I know werewolves are strong, but that was Ah. Maze. Zing."

Derek felt his face heat in embarrassment. It hadn't been something he had planned or even thought hard about. He'd seen the woman lose it and go to hit the gas and he'd just... held on. It wasn't just her and her son's lives at that point -- Scott had been in the car too. And something deep down inside Derek refused to lose another packmate, no matter what it took. 

Now he gave an embarrassed shrug. "Allison was the one who stopped her," he said. "Scott got the kid to safety. Lydia was the one who tracked the situation down in the first place. And you were the one who destroyed the disc. Seems to me that we're all pretty amazing."

Stiles gave him a fierce grin. "Can't argue with that." He poked Derek in the side again. "I'm glad you came back. You just... you fit with us, y'know?"

And the amazing thing was that Derek did know. This pack seemed almost fated to be. It was the kind of thing that had featured heavily in the tales his mother had told him when he was little, a pack made up of werewolves and hunters, humans and banshees. Led by a true alpha and a natural born emissary. And he fit with them, and maybe had his own part to play.

Guardian.

He was really beginning to warm to that idea.

*****

_**Elsewhere** _

This time when the talisman was destroyed he was nowhere near as calm. 

He prowled the apartment like a caged animal, snarling and swearing in languages long dead.

He knew losing his temper this way was far from productive, but damnation, he had been _so close_. At most a minute more and he would have had him. The Stilinski boy would have been his newest puppet, and maybe even more. With all of his barely tapped potential, he would be an ideal host. Now that he had a chance to properly taste the boy's power, he wanted that. He wanted that rather badly. 

A body strong and unscarred by years or battles or flames, brimming with the brightest spark of magic he had seen in a very long time. If he could have that, make it his own, it would be almost like before. When he was young and powerful and _alive_.

He had that in his grasp, but at the last second it was snatched away by that meddling cur of a werewolf and he wouldn't get another shot at it so easily. They would all be on their guard now.

Still, he hadn't survived as he was for as long as he had without mastering patience. 

He could take the time to observe, to take stock of his opponents' weaknesses, to come up with the perfect plan. It would, in the end, be even more satisfying to have them forewarned and on their guard and still take what he wanted in spite of it. He was confident in his ability to do so, all it was going to take was the patience to not rush ahead of himself.

And, in the meantime he would just have to make do with the puppet he had. It may not have the fount of magical energy that Stilinski did, but it wasn't without its benefits. And in spite of the difficulties encountered so far, they did make a rather impressive team.

 _Wouldn't you agree?_ he purred to his puppet, watching bright blue eyes shine with impotent fury over the vines holding him tight and silent.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this and I'll try and not take quite as long getting the next story in the series written...
> 
> [My tumblr](http://fwolfling.tumblr.com/) if people want to come say hi.


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